For the Love of Sirius
by Bizzy247
Summary: Sirius, though impetuous and often immature, is actually an adult and an Auror, not a lunatic. Dumbledore hasn't been Headmaster since the war got truly started; he is full time Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump, besides running the Order. Also the Ministry is a functional government. (Despite the title there are currently no plans for any relationships of any kind.)
1. Dread

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter or anything connected with it. JKR is the Queen of Everything!

 **Premise:** How would things be different if the adults in HP, starting with Sirius, behaved like adults? Sirius doesn't go haring off after Pettigrew, but instead takes care of Harry; Dumbledore is content with two full time jobs as Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump and let McGonagall take over Hogwarts years ago; and the Ministry is a functional government that would never allow a toddler to be left on a doorstep.

* * *

The feeling came on so suddenly that despite the international standard stabilization charms Sirius Black nearly crashed his motorcycle. It was so intense that only the reflex to kick on the hover charm kept the bike upright. Fortunately, it was nearly midnight, and, bless Morgana, this stretch of the A40 was deserted so there were no muggles to see the motorcycle swerve and nearly wipe out before shooting straight up and into the night.

Fighting through the adrenaline Sirius brought the bike down in a field just a few meters from the highway. He couldn't even think about the near miss he'd just had. His mind was entirely consumed with the sudden feeling that _things were not right_. In fact, things were intensely, unequivocally _wrong!_

His stomach was twisted in knots, his pulse was racing, his limbs were trembling, and his every nerve was flooded with a feeling of intense fear. No. No, not fear, though that in itself was an emotion he never acknowledged for more than a heartbeat. No. This was far worse. This was _dread_. Horror.

Somehow, every nightmare had come true at once and he couldn't stop it. But he had no idea what had happened.

He reached into the extended saddle bag on the back of the bike and pulled out a small, yet ornate, handheld mirror.

"Prongs?" he breathed. No answer.

"Prongs?!" he said louder. "James! JAMES! LILY! ANSWER ME!" He shook the mirror. Pulling out his wand he lit it and examined the mirror. James _always_ had the mirror on him, just in case.

As Sirius yelled at his reflection a few more times, a fog crept across the glass. Not a mist from the cold night, but a vision under the glass. The fog turned black and before his eyes a crack spread across his reflection.

 _Shit!_

Sirius quickly summoned his Patronus, a burly dog not unlike his animagus form. "Quick! Fetch the Order! And alert Scrimgeour! We need Aurors! As many as you can find, send them to—" he nearly stopped. He wasn't the Secret Keeper! He couldn't tell them where to go! Only Dumbled—his brain shut down as he realized that he actually _could_ tell them. His mouth continued on its own out of habit, "Godric's Hollow!"

 _No no no no no NO!_

Somehow, he could say the words. That meant—he wasn't sure what that meant, precisely. He wasn't an expert at the Fidelius. But he knew one thing it did mean: disaster.

He dismissed the Patronus and it galloped into the night. Without even thinking Sirius apparated, bike and all, to the lane in front of Godric's Hollow.

The bike tumbled over, fortunately away from him. Sirius was staring at the ruined house. He was vaguely aware of people scattered up and down the street watching the column of smoke. Half the roof was blasted away and small pockets of flame flickered throughout the building. Clearly the wards hiding the house and its magical nature had also been broken if the neighbors could see the house.

He cast several revelation charms in quick succession. The wards were indeed blasted open, but he detected no traps or lingering Dark magic. _Homenum revelio_ told him someone was still inside. Friend or foe, he had no way of knowing, but the lack of Dark magic made traps or ambushes unlikely.

The Auror in him registered the flattened shrubbery and shattered glass even as he stepped quickly towards the house, wand still at the ready. He eased around the broken front door and scanned through the main part of the house for any threats. A few scattered fires were all he saw and some quick charms had those smothered and the smoke thinning.

As the smoke cleared he saw the scorch marks of spells throughout the main hall, the number and concentration revealing a duel between two opponents, the stronger clearly having advanced through the front door towards the—

He flew down the hall so fast he might as well have apparated. The smoke and the odd angle had hidden his friend at first. There, sprawled across the bottom few steps and dressed in snitch pajamas and a bright red bathrobe, lay James Potter, clearly no longer living. His wand was still clutched tightly in his right hand. His left was halfway into his robe pocket. Reaching down cautiously Sirius probed past his friend's cold hand and found the mirror. It too, was cracked. If only James had reached it sooner! If only Sirius could have been here.

 _Don't be a fool. You know who did this. You wouldn't have lasted either. You couldn't have saved him._ Sirius blinked back the tears. He had to keep going. There would be time for James later.

Stepping around the body he continued noiselessly up the stairs. The wind, driven up by the sudden escape of the smoke, whirled around his leather robes. More fires in the upstairs hall were quickly extinguished.

The lamps were flickering in the bedroom, but a quick glance told him the room was empty and he turned to the room across the hall.

He vaguely registered pops of apparition and voices calling outside, but he was too stunned by the sight of the blasted nursery to react.

She lay in a heap, nightdress rumpled around knees and elbows, hair plaited back for the night, staring across the threshold. Behind her the crib was shattered, the walls torn away to the chair rail decorated with dancing pumpkins.

Sirius turned his eyes to the tiny figure that had clearly been clutched in Lily's arms at one point. Sirius' breath hitched and he sprang into action. James and Lily, though clearly dead, were otherwise untouched, a testament to the spell that killed them. But Harry's face was covered in blood.

Sirius knelt swiftly beside the still toddler, running his wand over the small body with a few diagnostic spells. He let out a tremulous breath as red and green numbers floated over the boy showing pulse and respiration rates.

 _He's alive. Oh, thank Morgana, Harry is alive!_

His spell revealed other issues, but they were beyond his ability. The important thing was that the boy lived!

Sirius stood and took a brief moment to run through the rest of the first floor, making sure each room as clear. He returned to the nursery as Aurors began sweeping through the floor below.

"Black! Report!" Scrimgeour leapt over James and raced up the stairs.

Sirius shook his head, searching for words. "I came… I knew… somehow. I was too late." He led his supervisor into the nursery.

Scrimgeour swore and swiftly began casting a number of investigative spells as Sirius knelt to gather the boy to him.

"Strange magic here. Any idea what happened? What's that?"

Sirius turned to show him the small boy. "Harry. He's alive. I have to get him to Saint Mungo's. The house is clear. I checked."

Scrimgeour nodded. "I'll finish here and meet you at the hospital for a statement."

Sirius nodded and turned to leave. His foot kicked something up against the wall and both men jumped at the sound.

"God almighty," swore Scrimgeour.

"Is that…" Sirius whispered, disbelieving.

Scrimgeour knelt, wand out, hovering over the object but not daring to touch it.

"I think it is. Dumbledore would know for sure."

Sirius shook his head. "What the hell…?"

Scrimgeour looked back around the destroyed room. "Whatever happened here is beyond either of us. I'll send for Dumbledore. We'll see the house isn't disturbed. Go, Black. Get that boy to hospital!"

Sirius nodded and disapparated straight to the emergency ward. He handed the boy over to the healers in a daze. His mind was all a jumble with thoughts tumbling over one another, clamoring for attention. Oh, James! And Lily. The house. He'd left his bike. Harry would need a new toy broom; he'd seen the pieces of the one he'd gotten for his birthday. Where was Lily's wand? What the hell happened to Peter?

But through the noise two things dominated his attention, giving him the focus and the will to stay still, to stay here for when they were done with James's boy.

First, Harry was alive, and he needed his godfather _here, now._

Second…

… what was Voldemort's wand doing on the floor in Godric's Hollow?


	2. Dawn

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter or anything connected with it. JKR is the Queen of Everything!

 **Premise:** How would things be different if the adults in HP, starting with Sirius, behaved like adults? Sirius doesn't go haring off after Pettigrew, but instead takes care of Harry; Dumbledore is content with two full time jobs as Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump and let McGonagall take over Hogwarts years ago; and the Ministry is a functional government that would never allow a toddler to be left of a doorstep.

 **A/N:** Feed the Muse! Leave a review!

* * *

"Mr. Black?"

Sirius started awake. "Mmrrpha? What? Yes!"

A young healer leaned over him, herself clearly exhausted. "Healer Bronswell says you can come in."

 _Harry._

Sirius lurched upright and shuffled tiredly after the healer. His back was killing him after spending… he didn't know how many hours sitting in the relatives room for the children's intensive care ward. Scrimgeour and Alice had stopped by some hours ago; Scrimgeour to take his official statement, and Alice to bring him a bagel sandwich and a jug of coffee. She had rambled for a while about Dumbledore examining the house, the bodies being cared for, the MLE beginning a full investigation. Somewhere in there she had mentioned social services but he'd been too split between exhaustion and worry to pay much attention.

The exhaustion was hardest to deal with. At 21 he should have been fine as a daisy with being up all night. He vaguely recalled Alice mentioning things like "shock" and "emotion drain."

"Mr. Black?"

Sirius looked up into the face of a middle aged man who was holding out his hand. Sirius took it briefly. "That's me."

"I'm Healer John Bronswell," the man continued. "I have news about Harry, but I'm sure you'd like to see him first?"

Sirius nodded. Bronswell slid open a door and gestured Sirius into the hospital room. Dawn was just peeking through the window. Another young healer was sitting half asleep in a rocking chair holding a very sleepy looking toddler. The green eyes turned to the door as they entered and widened at seeing Sirius.

The boy squirmed and then held up his arms. "Pa-s," he called.

Sirius rushed over and lifted Harry into a fierce hug. "Oh, pup!" For several minutes he held the boy, allowing his tears to surface and trying not to jostle or shock his godson. Harry was trembling, and gripping Sirius just as tightly.

"He's only been awake for an hour or so. We kept a sleep charm on him. It helps with young children in dealing with trauma."

"Trauma?" Sirius said.

Healer Bronswell continued. "Not physical trauma in his case. He has a cut on his forehead and some bruises, but that's the only physical damage."

Sirius nodded. "Face wounds. Got it." They tended to bleed a lot, making the damage appear much worse than it really was.

"He seems to be fully fit otherwise, though he may have some emotional trauma to deal with for some time. Losing his parents and adjusting to a new living situation will make healing more difficult, but not impossible."

Again, Sirius nodded. Then frowned. "If that's all, what took so long?"

Healer Bronswell sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "There is something else we found. Something much more serious, but we don't know what to do about it just yet."

"Go on," Sirius urged when the healer stalled.

Healer Bronswell swung out a wheeled stool and sat, gesturing for Sirius to take the now vacated rocking chair. 'Sit, please."

Sirius sat and settled Harry in his lap. Sirius cupped Harry's cheek and gently kissed his forehead. Then he noticed the jagged cut, still red and raw. "Why haven't you healed his forehead?" he demanded with a growl.

"We tried. It was made by a curse, and we can't determine which one. Whatever it is, the cut isn't responding to any healing charms or potions. We cleaned it and treated it with muggle medicine, so we are hopeful it will heal in time. There will be a scar though, unless we can find out what this curse is and reverse it."

"Is the curse… still active?"

Healer Bronswell frowned and folded his arms. "We can't be sure. It seems… dormant. As far as we can tell he isn't in any imminent danger, though we have no idea what may or may not trigger… whatever it is. Healer MacBrian was on duty last night from the Dark Curse floor. He took a look but said he'd need to consult with the whole department today. He hopes to get the Heads together by 10 to go over the case. Until we know what we're dealing with we would like to keep him here."

Sirius nodded. "Is there anything you need from me?" he asked.

"The clerk will have some forms for you to fill out, and I expect a social services rep will want to speak with you too. And we need to know how to reach you if you leave the hospital."

"Social services?" He vaguely remembered Alice mentioning something about that.

Healer Bronswell looked pointedly at Harry. "To establish wardship."

 _Oh._

* * *

Emmaline Vance frowned down at the immaculately groomed front garden. She was all in favor of a well ordered garden, but there was something almost sinister in the perfect marches of geraniums lining the walk.

She blew out a breath and knocked on the door, hoping it wasn't too early for the muggles. Seven am was a bit early for _her_.

She knocked again.

Hearing no answer she finally rang the bell, listening to it echo through the house. There, rustling. Oh! Ouch! Screaming toddler! Oops.

Thumping footsteps approached and the door was flung open.

"What? Do you know what bloody time it is?" demanded the walrus. Emmaline blinked away her affronted surprise.

"Mr. Dursley, I presume?" she asked.

The walrus nodded gruffly. "My name is Emmaline Vance. I'm from the Ministry, Social Services. I apologize for the early hour, but I have some sad and urgent news."

"Ministry?" the man huffed. "What ministry? What do you mean 'social services?' We're not on the public dole! How dare you suggest such a thing? Say your peace and get gone! Can't you see you've woken our Dudley!"

That must be the screaming she heard in the background. She pitied the man's wife. "You misunderstand me, sir. Might I come in? It is imperative that I speak with you and Mrs. Dursley immediately."

A woman came up behind the walrus, struggling to hold a squirming beach ball. The woman reminded Emmaline strongly of a horse.

"What's going on?"

"I have some unfortunate news, Mrs. Dursley," Emmaline said quickly, "About your sister."

* * *

Milicent Bagnold waved impatiently for everyone to be seated. "You have all read the Aurors' reports of last night's… incident? Good, we've no time to waste. Dumbledore, as Chief Warlock and Head of the Order, please give your assessment of our current situation."

Dumbledore nodded politely to her and stood, his face grave. "Some things I feel must still be verified, but here is what we can know with reasonable certainty. Last night Lord Voldemort attacked the Potter family personally, at their home in Godric's Hollow. We have not yet determined how he was able to find them as their location was under a Fidelius Charm. At one time, the plan was for Auror Sirius Black to be their Secret Keeper, but I have traced him thoroughly, and verified by Legilimency, that that plan was changed. The MLE is currently trying to track down one Peter Pettrigrew, who it seems may have taken his place. We do not know if Mr. Pettrigrew betrayed the Potters or if Voldemort may have discovered them by some means yet unknown. Sadly, I fear betrayal is the far simpler explanation.

"It is apparent that Lily died while actively shielding young Harry Potter from Voldemort. Though the house is nearly in ruins residual magic suggests that her death triggered ancient blood magic, forging a protection from her murderer to form in the very blood of her child. The Killing Curse was cast twice in the nursery, that much is barely deducible from the residue. I conclude that after Lily's death, Voldemort must have attacked the child, hitting the blood protection, causing the curse to rebound. Young Harry is currently in Saint Mungos, miraculously alive. The damage to the house is considerable and it is fortunate that the boy was not injured in the explosion."

Dumbledore paused.

"And what of You-Know-Who?" prompted the Minister.

Dumbledore's frown deepened. "This, I fear, is where we must leave the realm of fact and enter into the realm of speculation. As you know, Voldemort's wand was recovered from the floor of the nursery. It bears minor cosmetic damage only. It is currently in the possession of the MLE?" he looked around the table and got a nod from the MLE Head. "Excellent."

Many heads nodded.

"It may be important for that wand to be preserved. There is a chance it may undo certain evils it has caused in the past. In the meantime, Minister, we must arrange for the wand to be protected. We cannot risk his followers… liberating it."

The minister nodded. "I will speak to the Goblins."

Dumbledore continued. "The existence of the wand and the absence of both its master and the Dark Mark over the site suggests that the final Killing Curse did not merely rebound _off_ of Harry Potter, but also rebounded _to_ Lord Voldemort. It is very possible, even likely, that his destruction caused the damage to the—"

"So he's gone?" several voices asked.

Excited muttering began all through the room.

The Minister rapped her wand on the long table and a gong rang through the room. As the voices ceased she turned back to the Chief Warlock.

"This is speculation, only," He continued. "We have no eye witnesses, no body. But there is one bit of evidence I wish to present for consideration."

He pulled a vial from his robes and poured its contents into a silver bowl resting on the table. Tapping it with his wand a misty image rose from the bowl showing a bare forearm. The Mark was clearly visible.

"This memory is mine, from last night. I had a very desperate visitor, who's identity shall remain hidden for now, though clearly you can see he was in Voldemort's service at one time. As we spoke he was suddenly overcome with intense pain, such as I have rarely witnessed in my life. I doubt the Cruciatus Curse could match it. Fortunately for my visitor, it passed swiftly."

He tapped the bowl and the image moved forward, still focused on the forearm. The Mark began to fade.

"As you can see, the Mark on his arm faded substantially, until it was quite nearly gone. This, more than anything tells me that Lord Voldemort suffered a grave defeat last night."

Again, excited mutterings rose around the table.

"However!" Dumbledore boomed. Silence once again spread. "It is terribly, terribly, important that all of you note that though the Mark faded, it did not, and still has not, disappeared."

They all sat for some minutes in silence.

"What meaning do you ascribe to this fact, Albus?" the Minister demanded.

"I very much fear what this suggests. My suspicion is that Voldemort's body was destroyed last night, and, we can hope, much of his power as well. However, that the Mark lingers on in his servants suggests that he is not entirely vanquished. He is not dead. Somehow, his spirit has found a way to cling to life. This then leaves us with several challenges.

"As his defeat was not witnessed, his Death Eaters are not disbanded. Some may panic and lash out. We must be prepared," he looked pointedly at Scrimgeour. "Others may hold themselves in readiness for a future reappearance of their Lord or other opportunity to do mischief. I recommend extreme caution in the future, years into the future, in dealing with those known to have served him or even been loyal to his ideals. Even if they have not been convicted of any crime and suffer no penalties, we must be vigilant. Even if he is gone and never returns, his sentiments are hardly gone. How this plays out _legally_ has yet to be determined. For now, I advocate only vigilance.

"Our next challenge then, for which I request the special attention of the Unspeakables, is to find the means by which he avoided death. And, if possible, undo them. It may not be necessary to hunt down his remaining spirit if we can merely prevent him ever returning to power."

A shadowy figure at the end of the table nodded. No one other than the Minister knew who the head of the Department of Mysteries actually was. Well, _officially_ , no one else knew.

"Our final challenge will be how and when to release this information. The public must be told something. However, I cannot urge strongly enough that we not divulge everything we know until we are certain of several things. It could be disastrous if the news were broken too soon. We must ensure the Death Eaters are accounted for, and as far as possible verify Voldemort's defeat."

"I agree," said the Minister, turning to her Undersecretary. "Let the Prophet run a story on the attack, but do not mention the wand or the disappearance of You-Know-Who."

"Or the absence of the Dark Mark, or the survival of Harry. He may yet be in danger," added Dumbledore.

* * *

That night Sirius sat on the floor of the hospital room playing with Harry. He'd left for a few hours during Harry's afternoon nap to shower, change, and salvage some of Harry's things from the house. The bodies had been moved. Scrimgeour told him the MLE would release them in a day or so for preparation and burial. It had been the creepiest thing he'd ever seen, to walk through the house in the light of day. So much of it was intact, perfect. Tidy but not overly neat. A stack of books here. A few stray toys over there. Dishes still in the sink. Flowers in a vase on the table. Then that blasted hole in the roof and scorch marks on the walls to testify to the events of 24 hours ago.

Twenty four hours? Not even. Not quite. And the whole world was upside down.

So far Harry was quiet. He had clung to his toys, one at a time, and snuggled deeply into the blanket Sirius had brought.

A knock made Sirius look up.

In the doorway a blonde witch stood holding a formidable portfolio of parchment.

"Mr. Black? May I have a word?"

Sirius waved her in. "I'd rather not leave him alone, if it's all the same to you."

She stepped inside with an understanding smile. Though her hair was bound up in a classic wizarding fashion, her robes were tailored to mimic muggle business wear.

"My name is Sandra Smythwethr. I work with the Ministry, as a soliciter in social services." She neatly folded herself into the rocking chair. "This must be Harry Potter?"

Sirius nodded. "I'm his godfather."

"Yes, we know. All the paperwork is in order. You are aware that it's not automatic though?"

Sirius looked up at her, the question obvious in his expression.

"There will be a reading of the Will in a few days. We have an older copy, as does Gringotts, but it will take a day or so to verify that the Will we have is the most recent. Some wizards keep an updated version at their home." She let the implication settle.

"Once we know the Potters' wishes, we will determine if that is a safe and acceptable home for Harry."

Sirius looked back at the boy. Harry was staring quietly between the two of them. _A home for Harry._ His flat could use some work, especially for raising a kid. He ran a hand through Harry's hair reassuringly. He hadn't even considered _not_ taking Harry in. The thought of someone else taking him, of losing _all_ of the Potters, was making him slightly ill.

"I see," he said, trying desperately to just be polite and get through yet another horrible conversation.

"The process will involve a few interviews, and a tour of the property. The interviews will mostly determine if the people caring for him are capable, mentally, physically, and emotionally, and what their intentions are for his future. If all is acceptable, a formal wardship will be established. We try to move things along quickly so the children can get back to…well, _normal_ certainly doesn't apply…

"Anyway. I take it you intend to apply to care for him?"

Sirius sent her a fierce look. "I'm his _godfather_ ," he said again.

She nodded, still smiling sadly. "Of course. At this point… I don't see any reason to worry. But... there may be other claimants. He has some relatives, and there is the Will. I just want you to be aware of the process and not taken by surprise. You are managing his care at Saint Mungo's?"

"Yes," Sirius croaked out.

"Good. Are you on leave from the Auror Department?"

"I… honestly don't know. I haven't asked yet, and no one's told me. Probably. I'll check with Scrimgeour. It's been hell."

"I understand. I'll check with the Department. Harry will need a guardian until he is settled permanently. I see you have a flat in Kingsbury"

"Yeah. I do. I have a room for… had a room... for the Potters. They came over sometimes."

"So Harry has been there before?"

"Multiple times. Has his own toys. A crib. All of it," Sirius replied.

"Excellent," she continued. "From what I hear from the staff and what I can see, I am authorizing Saint Mungo's to release Harry to you once they clear him. Again, I see no real reason to worry, but please keep in mind that this is just temporary. It may be a couple weeks before everything is set in marble."

She watched the young man to be sure he understood. He was clearly still recovering from the incident himself. She hoped he truly grasped what was going on. She sighed. "I'll leave this folder with you. It has information about the wardship process, and the typical process for reading and executing Wills. There's also contact information for the current case managers: myself and Madam Brown. Finally, I highly recommend you look through the packet on raising a ward. It may help you prepare in case you need to defend your claim. And I do advise you to speak with a solicitor of your own. In case there is a challenge, Madam Brown and I must represent Harry, so you will want someone to help you."

Sirius merely nodded again. What was there to say?

"Well," she said sadly. "I'll check in with you when there's news."

After Madam Smythwethr left Sirius sat for hours in the rocking chair watching Harry sleep. For the first time since he was 16 he felt the repercussions of being disowned. Before, he'd have contacted his father and the family solicitor. Before, he'd have been able to waltz through this process on gilded wings, literally. Before, he'd had the power of the Noble and Most Ancient House behind his every whim. No one would think of challenging a Black's claim to a ward. (Well, a handful of other pureblood Houses had the clout to challenge, but only if they were willing to risk a possible House war.) Before...

Before he'd walked out. Before he'd raged against everything they believed. Before Regulus. Before Gryffindor. Before James… James…

Now, with Remus gone, Peter on the run, James and Lily dead, he had nothing but himself. He had a steady job and a decent living situation, sure. He was a more than capable wizard, so raising a wizarding child wasn't an issue, magically. He had no criminal record (unless someone raided Filch's office).

Not a bad situation really.

Except that he was, for the first time in his life, utterly alone.

* * *

A letter was waiting for him on the shabby desk. He was exhausted from a baffling day. His quarry had escaped, again, and his research was yielding no results. Aching for the shower—however grimy it was—he slit open the parchment.

The first sentence was enough to still his breath. His eyes leapt up and down the page in confusion before he forced himself to read it word by word. Four, five times he read it; trying to process; trying to force the words to become something else. The parchment fluttered from his fingers.

For several moments he stood in shock.

Suddenly he moved. Flinging a battered briefcase onto the hostel bed he began tossing objects into it from all over the room. In less than three minutes he'd stripped the room of his belongings. He dug a handful of gold coins from his pocket.

Briefcase in hand he hurried down the stairs and turned down the back hallway. He pounded on a thin, ancient door until the bleary eyed landlord opened it, snarling.

"I'm sorry. It's an emergency. This should cover what I owe you," he shoved the coins at the man. It was probably more than he owed, possibly by quite a bit, and he really couldn't afford it, but right now, he just had to get _out_! "Thank you for your hospitality."

He spun away and marched out the back door of the inn. Stopping on the sidewalk for a deep breath he felt the tears finally catching up to him. No time! He had to go. He spun on his heel and disapparated with a subtle pop.

A few jumps later he landed at Devon before a towering, lopsided, house. He knew it was the middle of the night but he hoped they would be awake. Taking out his wand he tapped the edge of the ward surrounding the house and waited for the return signal allowing him passage.

He stumbled across the dark yard and reached the kitchen door just as a lamp was lit inside.

"Arthur," he said haggardly, as a man in a patchwork robe swung the door open. "Is it true?"

 _Oh God, it was true! How can it be true?_ He could read it in Arthur's face.

"Remus… " Arthur choked. "Come in."


	3. Plans

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter or anything connected with it. JKR is the Queen of Everything!

 **Premise:** How would things be different if the adults in HP, starting with Sirius, behaved like adults? Sirius doesn't go haring off after Pettigrew, but instead takes care of Harry; Dumbledore is content with two full time jobs as Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump and let McGonagall take over Hogwarts years ago; and the Ministry is a functional government that would never allow a toddler to be left of a doorstep.

* * *

The air crackled with energy and yet felt close, almost unbreathable. He spun and swept his wand in a high arc, pulling fire up from the earth and shooting into the sky. With a wave of his other hand the fire turned to water and coiled around him, releasing clouds of steam. The ground rippled and cracked as he continued this dance of death, moving gracefully through imagined foes. Intellectually he knew that it was his own anger he fought against; his own impotence!

So much power! Enough to easily consume most men; even to consume him should he lose control. So much raw strength! Years of planning, mountains of research, so much sacrificed, and still he had failed. Some thought it a victory, and he could understand their joy at the reprieve. But he saw only failure. A reprieve they might have won; at what a cost! But it was a reprieve only, and now they were blind. Blind!

Chunks of earth as large as bulls rose around him and he dodged amongst them, shooting spell after spell to blast and transform. All the while walls of flame and deceptively delicate spouts of water fought with each other across his battlefield, whipping the wind into a frenzy. The rocks changed to spinning metal stars and shot towards him at once only to ricochet harmlessly off his shield.

A note pinged in his ear, a warning that another person approached his wards. The wand swung down to the earth. The fire vanished in a final puff of steam and the dancing river crashed around him into a puddle. Rocks returned to their original form and fell from the sky to lie scattered across the moor.

"Ye'r tampering with ma dour Scotts weather."

He looked up to see that the heat, steam, and strong winds from his battle had bored a rapidly expanding hole through the thick layer of clouds.

"My apologies, Minerva," he replied.

She sniffed. "An' what would the Chief Warlock be doing battling his demons on _my_ moor when there's a war te finish?"

Dumbledore dropped his gaze to his hands, particularly the long, knobby stick held tightly in his right. "I failed them. So much effort! And in the end it meant nothing. He mowed them down like grass."

He felt the Scotswoman approach, though he had yet to look at her.

"Aye. As he has done many a time. Ye are an anchor, Albus, for many chains that ye have forged. Many strong chains to bind him in. But… Petigrew was a weak link indeed."

Finally Dumbledore looked over at her. "We don't know for sure—"

"Pssst!" she waved away his objection. "Aye. Perhaps. But ye know, and I know, who it was held their Secret. The simplest explanation tis oftenest correct." She could see he didn't accept that logic, not today, though he had used it frequently himself. "T'were not ye that betrayed them, Albus. And can ye not rest knowing the boy survived? And the Dark Lord is—"

"He is not dead, Minerva." Dumbledore said tiredly. "I fear this is as much a setback for us as for the other side. We have a respite only and we must not waste it!" he finished angrily. "I must find him, Minerva! We must _know_ what he has become and how before he returns just as strong. But we know _nothing!_ No clues! No leads! I fear, I dread, that this fall will not be short. The longer he is seemingly gone, the more complacent all will become. The more defenses we will drop! The more allies will slip away, back to their lives of _peace_."

"Ye say the word as if t'were a curse," she sniffed.

He met her piercing gaze. "You know how I long for peace."

She scoffed. "Albus, ye know yerself te well fer that. I am much afeared ye will find peace harder te live with than war. What does a mighty warlock such as ye have to do with a quiet life? But tis no' the matter. Ye fear the Order will disband, the Ministry grow lax, our people less vigilant."

"Aye," he replied, unconsciously mimicking her thick Scotts accent. "If this goes on… we are in the eye of the storm, but the other side approaches. We _must_ stay ready!"

She nodded. He turned to stare across the barren moor, his fears continuing to spin through his mind. His colleagues on the continent were beginning to hear rumors, despite how closely they had guarded the news. The Unspeakables were even now preparing to reopen the lab focused on immortality, particularly Dark methods of reaching it. He had visited briefly with Black, only long enough to verify that he had not, in fact, been the Secret Keeper. He must convene the Order today, perhaps tonight. And … he must see the boy. Somehow facing a child, now orphaned because he had failed to protect the boy's parents, seemed an insurmountable challenge.

The sun streaming through his hole in the clouds told him he had precious little time to dawdle.

With a sigh he turned to the woman. "And how are my students faring?"

She arched a stern eye brow. " _My_ students are faring perfectly well, as ye are well aware."

"The wards—"

"The wards on Hogwarts are a mile thick, Albus." Now that they were talking business, her accent faded almost entirely away. "And are updated every month by the Ministry, and the Goblins, and the Staff, _and_ the Board. Not to mention myself."

He nodded. Of course, he knew all this. He had designed the system himself as soon as he had been made Headmaster, back in another lifetime.

"Of course, no amount of wards can contain the mischief the students bring with them," she continued with a hint of laughter. "Did you know that with a slight adjustment a Cheering Concoction produces vast amounts of cotton candy?"

Dumbledore looked at her questioningly. "That I did not."

"No. Neither did Professor Verstadt. A fourth year managed to alter the directions without her notice and the entire potions classroom was full of cherry flavored clouds before she could correct the mistake."

"Oh dear," Dumbledore replied with a chuckle.

* * *

"Frank, enough!" roared Scrimgeour. "You will accept the security detail and you _will_ obey each and every protocol for protected targets, and you will be _grateful_ that I am allowing you to stay in your home and not sending you to Geneva to hide under a _rock_ for the rest of the _year!"_

Frank bristled. "Sir! The war is NOT over, and we—"

"Are no longer in the fight, Frank! I said enough! Both of you," his eyes snapped to the fierce woman standing behind Frank, "are on administrative leave effective two hours ago. If you keep arguing with me I will have you detained for insubordination."

Scrimgeour paused in his diatribe, letting his pulse calm down. Just a tad. "I just lost two of our best. We know you are targets. I will _not_ sit back and let the same thing happen to Neville that _just_ happened to Harry!"

He ran a hand over his face. He sympathized with Frank, he really did. But part of the job was knowing when to step back.

"Now. You two will portkey home, with guards. And you will remain there. Only official portkeys authorized by me personally will be able to access the wards on your house. You will firecall or send a patronus and let us know what you need. You will have four Aurors on duty 24/7. You will not, under _any_ circumstances, none _whatsoever_ , leave the safety of the wards. The Aurors will bring you your mail and anything else you may need. If you are attacked, you will take Neville and portkey straight to this office. You will _not_ engage!"

Both of them drew deep breaths and he could see them fighting the very idea of running from a fight. After all, Aurors were the ones who ran _towards_ disaster. It was in their bones.

Before they could argue he continued, "Your priority is your son. I beg you not to leave him like Harry."

He could see that comment hit home.

"Any questions?" Even if his tone allowed the possibility of questions he knew they wouldn't have any. They knew the protocols.

"No, sir," Frank said resignedly. Beside him Alice nodded.

"Good. I will be in touch every few days personally."

Frank spun away but Alice paused a moment. "How is Harry?"

Scrimgeour thought over the thick purple file locked in his drawer. If that kid were any older there would be no getting over this mess. Fortunately the young ones tended to bounce back quickly. "Safe. For now," was all he said. He made a mental note to double the security at Saint Mungo's.

* * *

Remus Lupin glanced around the cafeteria and quickly found the telltale long black hair. Black never would cut it decently. At least he wasn't a ponce about it the way Lucius was.

"Sirius?" he said as he approached the table.

Tired silver eyes looked up at him and widened in shock. Sirius bolted up from the table. "Remus," he said heavily.

The tension coalesced around them as they just looked at each other.

"Where were you?" Sirius finally asked, dangerously, hands balled into fists.

Remus knew he didn't mean just last weekend and he could see that this was likely his one chance to explain and he had better explain well.

"I had a job," he began.

"'A job?'" Sirius repeated derisively.

Remus took a calming breath and nodded. "Crouch offered me a contract. Just for this one job."

Sirius stared at him, obviously forcing himself not to interrupt.

"Greyback," Remus said quietly, glancing around the cafeteria. Hopefully no one had heard, or if they did, they would keep shut about it. "I've been tailing him, and his pack. Trying to get something solid to get them locked up, mitigate the damage…"

Silver eyes narrowed. "For eight months?"

Remus ran a hand through his scruffy hair. "Actually, ten. I had to go to ground after two after my cover was nearly blown."

Sirius waited for Remus to continue but got impatient when he didn't. "So that's it. All those times you were gone, _all_ of them were you playing Auror?"

"Not quite." Remus held up a pacifying hand. "Hold on! I was also… researching. _He_ led me all over the bloody continent, Sirius. And, well, you know there's actually a lot of downtime, especially when hiding out, so… I picked up a few things and there may be good news. Not for me. For me it's way too late. But there may be something to help others, to keep them from becoming like me. I did miss a few meetings to follow up with contacts."

A black eyebrow arched skeptically. "You found a cure for—?" He just barely stopped himself from saying it out loud.

Remus shook his head. "Just leads. Nothing solid, yet. But… I know how I must have looked, to you and to James. I never joined them, Sirius. You know I would never do that. After everything that bastard did to me. After a lifetime of—all of it." He gestured vaguely, knowing Sirius at least would follow.

Slowly, muscle by muscle, Sirius relaxed. It had always been hard for Sirius to let go of grudges. His good opinion, once lost, was often lost for good.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sirius demanded softly.

"Crouch. The man is bloody paranoid. Dumbledore figured it out, I think."

"Well, he didn't say anything to _us!"_ Sirius huffed.

Remus shrugged apologetically. "I swore not to tell anyone who didn't give me a passcode first. It was a binding magical contract, signed in blood and everything. One way ticket to Azkaban for three years for jeopardizing a case."

"So why tell me now?" Sirius glanced significantly around the cafeteria. Though not overly crowded, they were certainly not having a private conversation.

"I quit. This morning. Ripped up my contract in Crouch's face."

A grin spread over Sirius's face. "You did not!" Prefect Lupin, sticking it to the man! How Sirius wished he could have seen _that_.

"Did so." Remus said proudly. "I'm done. It was hell, Sirius. Absolute, effing, hell. And," his voice dropped low, "we still lost them."

Perhaps it was his use of 'we,' or maybe just the reminder of the loss itself. The last of Sirius' suspicions melted away. This was _Moony_ for heaven's sake! He stepped forward and embraced the man he's once loved as a brother.

"Well," he said, finally releasing Remus. "Welcome back to civilization." He held up the paper cup of tepid coffee as evidence.

"I can _not_ believe you are about to put that in your mouth."

Sirius grinned. "It was hot."

"So," Remus said seriously. "How's Harry?"

* * *

"Where do we stand, people?" Carmichael asked the assembled team. They were starting off with six Unspeakbles, each with vastly different backgrounds. Tiberius was the only one with extensive Dark Arts experience, having served in Grindewald's inner circle—purely for the academic experience, of course. Celestia was a history and mythology buff, sometimes confusing the two, but then only she could really know which was which at this point. She also managed the Time unit. Jayden had been spearheading soul research for a decade. Many of his publications (published under a _nomme de plume_ ) detailed the interactions between the soul and music. River was the current leading expert on power enhancing magics, a branch of magic with historically few successes and many trails of blood through the world. Maeghana was a Seer, but her true specialty was in the interaction of magic with the physical realm.

Celestia stepped forward and placed a wooden box on the table. Lifting the lid she revealed a potions box containing eight memory vials. "These contain memories that Warlock Dumbledore has collected relating to the life of one Tom Riddle. He claims they may tell us much about his methods and motives. I will begin reviewing them and will have a detailed report, I hope, by the end of the day tomorrow with any leads. I will, of course, conduct my own interviews following."

Carmichael made some notes on the table. The surface was covered with parchment, or what looked like parchment, and he had an elaborate diagram of boxes and circles expanding in front of him. "Any of those memories of his followers?"

Celestia frowned. "No knowing at the moment. If not… how hard would it be to interview some Death Eaters?" she asked mildly.

"Check with Scrimgeour. Jayden, you're our expert on the soul."

"Yes, but," Jayden shifted uncomfortably, "my expertise is mostly on how to strengthen the soul to be a better source for magical power. I don't know of anything, yet, that would stop death."

"Tiberius? River?"

River shrugged. "Even the Philosopher's Stone doesn't protect against an AK," his voice ground out like gravel, unexpected from someone otherwise delicately proportioned. "And it's the only known artifact to grant anything similar to immortality."

Carmichael tapped his lips. "Could Riddle use a Philosopher's Stone to come back?"

River rubbed his chin in contemplation for a minute. "I don't see how. Well… I suppose he might think so. Few understand that the Stone can only work for the one who makes it, otherwise Nicholas Flamel would be either selling its abilities, or dead from someone trying to steal it. But, again, there's no accounting for what Riddle may or may not know."

"I'll contact the Flamels. They should be prepared," Carmichael made a note. "Tiberius?"

Next to River, Tiberius loomed like a giant. "There are several rumors, ancient myths amongst the Dark Ones. I do not know of any having succeeded, for their fabled practitioners are all deceased. But I know of nothing that would cause one to die and yet to not die. But I think we all agree that knowing Riddle's character, his methods would indeed have been Dark. I suspect that even should he gain access to the Stone we need not worry about him returning to power through it."

"Why not?" asked Carmichael.

"Because he was a Dark wizard," Tiberius answered simply.

Seeing the looks of confusion around the table. Meaghana spoke up. "The Philospher's Stone is the very pinnacle of White Magic. It's magic would react violently against his own. Very likely it would destroy him completely. At the very least, if he was somehow able to contain the Stone's Magic to regain life, his magical core would certainly be destroyed."

Carmichael would see the relived breaths amongst the group.

"I have learned," Meaghana continued, "that the boy, Harry Potter, continues to be held at Saint Mungo's due to a strange curse scar which he received during the attack. It may be merely a side effect, but I believe it would behoove us for Tiberius and myself to arrange a visit with the boy in person. Perhaps this scar can give us some clues."

Carmichael drew his wand across the table, logging the session and locking it to any but those present. He straightened up. "Next briefing tomorrow night. Jayden, you're on beverage duty."

"Black coffee with cinnamon," Jayden confirmed before heading out.

As he left the lab Carmichael couldn't help but feel they were missing something key.

It was far too early to tell what was missing. It could be a fact, or a thing, or a person, or something as big as the sun itself. But he had an unshakable hunch that there was a cog missing from his machine. And if there was one thing Carmichael specialized it, it was hunches.


	4. Changes

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter or anything connected with it. JKR is the Queen of Everything!

* * *

 **The Daily Prophet, Evening Edition - Mon, Nov 2 1981**

 **POTTER FAMILY ATTACKED!**

 _The Ministry for Magic has just confirmed that late on All Hallows Eve the Potter family was attacked. It is believed that the attack was perpetrated by followers of You-Know-Who, who, it is known, has been targeting the Potters for their public stance against his reign of terror. For the past year and half the Potters have been in hiding. Their location has been a closely guarded secret, which many suspect had been protected by the fabled 'Fidelius Charm.' How You-Know-Who learned of their location is still being investigated._

 _At least two bodies were removed from the scene, but there is no word on who lost their lives to this devastating attack. Investigations are ongoing. Minister Crouch of the Magical Law Enforcement has released a statement asking citizens to immediately report any information on the whereabouts of one, Peter Pettrigrew, who may have information on the attack, but has not been seen since last Friday._

* * *

 _Quarter after three in the morning!_ Narcissa fumed silently. She glared over the edge of the bed at the creature. "Yes?" she said with barely contained civility.

"Mistress Malfoy wished to be informed at once when Master Malfoy is being home." The elf addressed this information to the floor beside her bed.

"Lucius has returned?"

"Yes, Mistress. Master Malfoy is being in his study."

"And Draco?" she asked as she pushed back the covers.

"Master Draco is being asleep," the elf said almost caringly.

Not bothering to reply, Narcissa swept a dressing gown over her shoulders and left her suite. She took the back stairs, once used only for servants in centuries past, and soon arrived at Lucius' study.

No lamps were lit, but a new fire blazed in the massive fireplace. Her husband sat, no, was sprawled, clearly exhausted, in a Queen Ann chair some feet away. Narcissa stood at the edge of the firelight, taking in the tumbler of whiskey dangling precariously from his hand. She was in his line of sight but he continued to stare into the flames.

She stepped further into the room and sat decorously on the edge of a matching chair. "It is done?"

He nodded and let out a tired breath but said no more. Perhaps he was too tired to speak to her. Perhaps he found the subject too painful. Perhaps he still didn't feel the need to include her in any of his… _other_ business. The Dark Lord's service had often been his escape from marital bliss.

"Is there any word?" she persisted.

His eyes shifted to lock onto hers. There was no love in that look, not tonight, which she understood perfectly. The aristocratic sneer twitched across his lips but then gave way to the whisky glass. "None." His voice was unusually hoarse. Well, two days of shouting orders and breathing dust to evacuate headquarters was liable to do that.

"What now?" she said eventually.

Lucius glared at the fire then sprang up with a snarl. He paced a few steps from the fire, drained the whiskey, then turned and hurled the glass into the fire. His growl of frustration nearly drowned the crash and roar of flame. Spinning away from her he ran his hands over his tired face, and then turned to lean a forearm against the mantle.

"I sent them all to ground," he forced out. "Stay ready, but do nothing. That's all we can do."

Narcissa nodded silently. "And us?" she added after giving him some minutes to brood. "What will— _we—_ do?"

Oh, how cruel she could be in her kindnesses. Now that his Dark Lord had abandoned him, now that his dreams of glory and his little adventures were all overturned, now that he had lost everything that had led him from his duty as a pureblood of standing and distracted him from the beautiful family she had given him, yes, _now_ , she said 'we.'

He straightened and looked at her, his eyes cold and his face still. "Fear not, my love," he said tonelessly. "We shall not suffer unduly. A small performance perhaps, to appease Dumbledore; perhaps gild a few pockets. All will be well," he spat the phrase as if it pained him, a sneer twisting the sentiment nearly to a curse. "Your husband has not been as foolish as you think," he finished darkly.

"I think nothing of the kind," she said imperiously. Inwardly, she breathed a huge sigh of relief. She truly had no concept of what crimes he may or may not have committed, nor how well he may have covered them. But if a performance were all that was required… clearly there could be nothing the Ministry could directly accuse him of. However, should any of his… _associates_ talk …

She had no worries for herself, of course. The most that could be said against her was hosting a few dinners, all for relations or friends of standing: nothing at all sinister.

She rose and smoothed her dressing gown. "I will arrange some donations. Perhaps some artwork for Saint Mugno's and a concert for the Village School Consortium? Just the thing. Nothing at all political. And I shall host a luncheon for all the appropriate witches. I can get invitations out today, I think. I'll have that half-blood harpist perform. Yes, just the thing. She's quite good."

He said nothing, but she knew he was appreciating her schemes. Nothing political, true, and yet all the more politically powerful for all that. Just a normal, fabulously wealthy, ancient noble house, caring for those less fortunate. What a perfect image she maintained? Though she was looking at the wall as if deep in thought over her plans (which, of course, she has been formulating for the past two days, and had already set in motion), she saw him nod. The gesture was both agreement and appreciation…and defeat: as much of an apology as she could ever expect for his misplaced loyalties and efforts.

Her eyes softened. She stepped to his side. Brushing his cheek with the back of her hand, she said softly, "Fear not, my love. Tonight, we shall dine at Le Coq d'Or, as a family. The endearing display will tell them all we have nothing to fear. I will see to it that Draco behaves, and you can play the doting father." She paused. "All _shall_ be well," she said with such finality the fates themselves were sure to obey. Dropping her hand to his shoulder for a moment, she then turned and left.

Lucius stared after her, feeling he could almost believe her. For the first time, he was truly glad she had refused to join the Dark Lord. He has resented her choice, seeing it as a refusal to support him. But now, she just might save them all.

* * *

Remus Lupin walked into the Auror office with some trepidation. He hoped Scrimgeour was in a mood for haggling and that he wouldn't have to go up the chain. If he had to talk to Crouch, a lot of people would be in serious trouble.

"Excuse me," he asked a passing trainee. The young man gave him a barely conscious glance. "Where can I find Scrimgeour?"

"Auror Scrimgeour is very busy on a case-" the young man began impatiently.

"Yes, I know," said Remus. "I have information that could be vital."

The young man looked Remus up and down as if seeing him for the first time. "Second door on the right." He jerked his head towards a hallway of cubicles.

"Thank you." Remus spun and strode to Scrimgeour's office. "Auror Scrimgeour?" he began, poking his head around the door frame.

Golden eyes shot a sharp glance his direction, accompanied by a harsh sigh. The eyes narrowed. "You look familiar," he said gruffly. "Do I know you?" Scrimgeour dropped the stack of papers he'd been shuffling through.

"Not personally. I'm a friend of Sirius—Auror Black. I'm Remus Lupin." Remus held out his hand. Scrimgeour shook it, but held on a tad longer and harder than most. He actually turned Remus' hand over and glanced briefly at his knuckles before dropping the hand with a cocked eyebrow.

"What can I do for you, Mr… _Lupin?_ "

Remus cleared his throat. "I have some information that may help you find Pettigrew." Remus saw the Auror noted how he spat the name. "But, it comes at a price."

Scrimgeour leaned back. "Oh? If I don't like the price I could charge you for obstruction," he said mildly.

Remus shrugged. "Maybe, but I doubt you'll mind. I know a trick of Peter's that could help him elude your Aurors, for _years_ , and I'm happy to expose that trick. But" he held up a finger, "I need your word that no other persons implicated in any wrong doing, however small, in connection with this… _trick_ … can be charged based on what I'm about to tell you. Any information or implications not explicitly related to Pettrigrew personally will be strictly off the record."

Scrimgeour's eyes glinted. "You play a rough game, Mr. Lupin."

Remus nodded and smiled. "I can also tell you that no one was injured in any aforementioned wrong doing and no followers of You-Know-Who are being protected."

For a moment Scrimgeour studied him suspiciously. Then the man pulled out his wand and cast a silencing ward over his office. "Sit."

An hour later, Remus returned to the lift. Fortunately it was deserted. He stared at the grid of buttons, daring himself to continue this streak of rash decisions. That or go back to old Lupin: quiet, shy, Prefect Lupin. _Ha_ , he thought. _Prefect Lupin is dead. He died with James. I'm done with quiet and shy_.

He punched a button.

Instead of ascending to the Atrium, the lift began to lower.

* * *

"A Horcrux? You can't be serious?" Carmichael nearly spat.

Tiberius grunted. Meaghana sighed.

"Sir," Meaghana said delicately. "Based on Celestia's report, it is a possibility we must consider."

Carmichael turned to Tiberius.

"It is a possibility, and a promising one," the deep voice boomed. "River agrees."

"Fine, fine." Carmichael pinched the top of his nose. "So what next?"

"Carmichael?" chimed Celestia distractedly as she strode into the room. Her attention was firmly fixed on an unruly pad of parchment in her left hand. "Who can I talk to to get some inner circle Death Eaters to Legilimize?"

* * *

The door opened before Remus could even knock. He slipped his wand out and cautiously pushed the door open, peering into the room beyond. It was too dark to see any details, with only dim flickering lights along the walls that did nothing to illuminate the interior. Slowly he stepped inside, still holding the door open, and allowed his eyes to adjust.

 _Twelve sides_ , he counted quickly. But there was no indication which door he should open. As far as he could tell, they were all identical.

He stepped forward again, letting the door swing shut. As soon as it clicked, the walls spun. _Shit!_

Remus held still, his every sense tingling with alertness. For once, he let the wolf rise as well. His nostrils twitched and he could almost feel his retinas shift.

"Welcome, Master Lupin."

Remus spun to see a shadowy figure near the wall behind him.

"Your arrival is most punctual."

Remus straightened but did not relax. "Are we acquainted?"

"Not yet," the figure said. "But I have been expecting you. My answer is, yes."

Remus frowned. "Answer? To what?"

"To your petition."

Remus' heart hammered in his chest. His petition? "Who are you?"

"Ah, I hope to tell you. I hope so very much. But first, do you accept the terms? You came seeking purpose, the ability to hunt for answers as your other self delights in hunting prey. And, to give aid to those you love. I can grant you all this. But can you accept the cost? You can never speak of what you see, hear, learn, or do behind these walls. Not to a single soul. Only my voice or my own hand can free you of this burden of silence, in part or in whole.

"Do you accept the terms?" the figure repeated.

More secrets! Not that he was surprised. They were called "Unspeakbles" for a reason. Sirius would be _pissed_. He hated secrets. Harry's young face floated across his mind: tired, so sad, green eyes wide and scared. So like James! And that scar… the scar was evil. He could smell it. He had to know what it was. He had to _do something_.

Remus' hand tightened on his wand.

"I accept the terms," he said firmly.

"Excellent," the figure responded. The shadows around him melted away and the blue flames flared brighter revealing an old but hale man with grey hair still bearing traces of brilliant coppery red. "Remus John Lupin, you are now bound by the Accord of Secrecy of the Department of Mysteries."

A tightness passed over Remus, as if every cell were squeezed to half its size and then released, leaving a slight tingle behind that buzzed through his veins. _Interesting_ , he noted.

"—and I am its Head," The man continued. "My name is Ignatius Prewett.

"Welcome, Unspeakble Lupin. We have been waiting for you."

* * *

Sirius frowned at the owl. It was nearly black, with iridescent blues and purple's throughout. Not at all a natural bird. And it was well aware of how special it was. The animal practically preened after delivering the letter.

He knew he'd seen the bird before, but couldn't place it. He snapped open the seal and unfolded the missive.

 _Dear Nephew,_

 _I dare not hope this letter finds you well, in light of recent occurrences. You are no doubt surprised that I should contact you, given past history. Perhaps you are aware that not all of the House of Black shares your mother's impetuous nature._

 _There are matters of great import in which you are concerned that must be discussed. I understand that you mean to claim young Harry Potter as your ward. Do not be surprised, nephew! Of course I know of his survival. These matters may concern him also._

 _If you are agreeable to a private audience at the location of your choosing, send details back with Eidyia._

 _I await your response._

 _Your Affectionate Great Aunt,_

 _Cassiopeia Black_

Only the mention of Harry kept him from setting an _Incendio_ on the whole thing. He supposed that was deliberate. His aunt was a master at manipulation.

He growled at the owl. Eidyia, indeed! Ripping a small sheet off the stack of parchment notes on the desk, he scrawled a location and a date. It was a high end establishment, far above his aunt's tastes, or, usually, his own. But if he was going to sit through an evening of thinly veiled daggers he'd be damned if he didn't at least enjoy the food! And she could damn well pay for it. He added that last thought to the note and thrust it at the bird.

She rolled brilliant sapphire eyes at him, as if she knew his thoughts and found him petulant and childish. Then, delicately taking the note in a claw, she vanished out the window.

Sirius dropped to the floor with a sigh. "Well, pup," he said to the toddler dutifully trying to untie one of Zonko's Gordian Knot puzzles, "looks like I have a date tonight."

A knock made him look up to the door. "Hey, Remus. Come on in. Hey, are you free this evening? I have to head out in an hour or so. Want to watch the pup?"

"What's the occasion?" Remus asked, taking a seat.

Sirius shrugged and jerked his head to the rumpled letter on the desk.

"That's… interesting," Remus said after reading it.

"You can say that again. I hate that she knows about Harry." Sirius looked towards the door out of the hospital room as if he expected Death Eaters to jump at them any moment. "She always was a wicked harridan."

Remus huffed but said nothing. After a moment Sirius turned to frown at him "What's up with you? Where you been all day?"

With a shrug Remus told him about his conversation with Scrimgeour. "You really should register, you know. It would have made that entire conversation a lot less awkward."

Sirius laughed. "One day. You're probably right."

"That guy gives me the creeps."

"Who? Scrimgeour?"

Remus nodded. "Never had someone pick up on my furry problem so quickly."

They sat watching Harry work through the knot for a few moments.

"There's something else," Remus said quietly. Sirius just quirked a brow at him. "I found another job. I did it for Harry, and for James, but I don't think you'll like it."

Now Sirius was fully intrigued. "Why would I not like you getting a job?"

With a sigh Remus reached into his robes and pulled out a pendant on a long chain. He quickly unclasped the pendant and tossed it to Sirius.

With a grin Sirius flipped it over and looked at the inscription. The grin quickly disappeared into shock.

"Bloody buggering hell!"

* * *

 **A/N:** A few key concepts in this story have been inspired by the brilliant work of other fan fic writers. Be sure to check them out!

\- The concept regarding the Philosopher's Stone and who can use it was inspired by The Best Revenge by Arsinoe de Blassenville, which may be my all time favorite HP fan fic ever. Seriously, especially if you adore Snape, go read it!

\- Much of what will happen with Sirius is thanks to Elvendork Nigellus and his series, Growing Up Black.

\- Also, if anyone is familiar with L.E. Modesitt, expect to see some familiar philosophies in this story.

Leave a review if you have any questions or things you want to see happen!


	5. Moving Forward

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter or anything connected with it. JKR is the Queen of Everything!

* * *

Collectively, the old witch's robes gave the effect of severe black. Up close, however, there was little true black to be found. Instead, deep blues and greens predominated. Her robes were accentuated in many places with subtle brocade, lace, netting, beads and feathers (which reminded Sirius very strongly of her owl). A confection of haberdashery, likewise formed of near-black jewel tones, perched jauntily on her coifed, silver head, supporting a short French veil that did nothing to hide her stern visage. From across the room, the effect was quite dashing. From up close, It was nearly overwhelming.

As Sirius approached the table he saw that she was not alone.

If Sirius was shocked to see his great aunt it was nothing to his surprise at seeing the woman beside her. For a split second he almost reached for his wand, but her expression stopped him. Bellatrix hadn't looked at anyone that softly since she was five years old.

"Andie?" he said, uncertainly. His eyes whipped back and forth between the two women. Aunt Cassiopeia regarded him shrewdly.

"Sit down, Sirius, before you cause a scene," she said sternly.

Sirius slid into the booth. Between Remus' revelation an hour ago and seeing his cousin Andromeda seated at the same table as _Cassiopeia Black_ he wasn't sure he could handle any more surprises.

"What's going on?" he demanded fiercely—but quietly. He knew each booth, in addition to lattice screens was also surrounded by silencing wards. _The Hibiscus_ charged as much for privacy as for food.

Cassiopeia sniffed and snapped her fingers for a waiter.

Andie turned to Sirius and spoke in a whisper as Cassiopeia ordered a bottle of terribly expensive wine and several appetizers. "I'm glad you're here. I nearly fainted when her owl came. Thought for sure Bella was right outside!"

"We will get to your _sister_ later," Cassiopeia said, having dismissed the waiter. "Now, before either of you gets sentimental know that we do not condone or approve the actions of either of you. Nor do we share your opinions on certain… political matters."

The old witch was clearly using every ounce of self-control to contain her sneer. Sirius felt no such compunction and gave his free reign.

"And who is 'we?'" he challenged.

Cassiopeia continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Arcturus, Pollux, and I are greatly disturbed by recent events and if steps are not taken, there is a chance our family may not recover from this crisis."

Sirius scoffed. "Finally realized you were on the losing side, have you?"

Cassiopeia caught him in a fierce and un-mitigating glare. "Get down off your high horse, boy! Only two Blacks have ever worn _his_ mark. We may have agreed with some of his philosophies, but if you think for a moment that my brother and I ever condoned his practices you have quite another thing coming. Belief in blood purity is _not_ a crime, Sirius _Black_ ; it is a founding belief of our society."

"Don't try throwing my name at me, _aunt,_ " Sirius spat back. "I was disowned, remember? I am hardly a member of your _family_."

If it were possible the old witch drew herself up even taller in her chair. "That is precisely why I have asked to speak to you." Her eyes flicked to the right to include Andie. "I sympathize with Walburga's sentiments," she paused. "But she was a fool: short sighted and narrow minded. Had things ended differently, I confess it unlikely we would be having this conversation. However, things are as they are.

"Sirius, Regulus is dead," she said directly. "Had he survived, perhaps we would not feel the necessity of challenging your mother's … mis-judgement. But the truth is that he _is_ dead. This means that you are the sole remaining heir in a male line, Sirius. At such a juncture your mother's impassioned dictate cannot override the laws of inheritance, particularly as your father never did follow through to arrange it legally. She may throw you out of _her_ house, but she has no authority to disinherit you. Whether you approve or not, you _are_ the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. And you are the _only_ heir, as neither Ignatius nor Alphard bore children, and Cygnus insisted on fathering girls. Should you die childless," they could hear just what she thought of _that_ in her tone, "then... one way or another, the Black line is finished and our fortunes will pass to another House. Likely Andie's girl or Narcissa's boy will be named heir upon their majority, though as things stand it is possible, depending on the wording of a number of Wills involved and the relevant laws, that the Potter boy could be named the heir—if you manage to gain wardship without bungling it."

The young wizard and his cousin stared at her in astonishment. Then Andromeda snickered. They both looked at her.

"Poor Bella! She would die of shock. The Potter boy, ahead of her in line to inherit? They were just as much blood traitors as we are!" she laughed.

Cassiopeia sniffed. "Well, as to that-"

"Hold up a tick!" Sirius cut her off. She glared at him but he plowed ahead. "Are you telling me that I'm _not_ disowned? That the family is going to just… welcome me back? What about mother?"

"Ah, yes." Cassiopeia for once looked truly discomforted. She took a long swallow of wine and swirled the contents of the glass before looking back to Sirius. "Your mother has become something of a liability. She did not take the deaths of your brother and father well. There have been a number of embarrassing outbursts in recent months. Your grandfathers deemed it necessary to take steps. She is confined to her home. Your Aunt Druella has spent a great deal of time caring for her, but she continues to decline mentally. Her health is, unfortunately, excellent. She may last some years. But, so long as you keep out of Grimmauld Place there should be no problems."

There was a very tense pause as plates of appetizers appeared on the table. Sirius skewered a prawn breaded in coconut and chewed thoughtfully. "So," he continued after swallowing the admittedly delicious crustacean. "You are un-disowning me?"

Cassiopeia sighed. "You were never disowned, Sirius. You ran away," she waved her hand dismissively. "Your mother may have blasted you off the tapestry and shouted a great many things, but both of your grandfathers still live, so any official disowning of a recognized heir apparent requires the witnessed approval of the _pater familia_. You were always a Black, in far more than name only."

She frowned down at the table for a minute then looked at them both seriously. There was something vulnerable, almost pleading in her expression. "I fear this has been lost in the jumble of recent politics. It is difficult sometimes to remember what children do not know. The Blacks may stand for blood purism, but that is hardly all we stand for. Compared to the history of our House, this business with the Dark Lord is nothing but a passing disturbance. It must not be allowed to cause our downfall. The _House_ is far more important than any politics could ever be. We represent a legacy of what it means to be witches and wizards. We carry the traditions of centuries of our people. We must remember what it means to be a Noble and Most Ancient House. What it means to be a Family. That is far more important than any political scheme. We, your grandfathers and I, regret that we allowed you all to lose sight of that."

Sirius found a lot that he disagreed with in that little speech. But…it was a moving gesture. They had confined his mother at home, eh? _Fitting. She loved that damn house_.

"What about Andie?" Sirius asked, nodding to his cousin.

Andie still hadn't said much. Her disownment had been much more dramatic than his, what with the secret elopement. He could tell, however, that she was merely biding her time.

Cassiopeia seemed to recover her self-possession. "The family must come before politics," she said, as if steeling her nerves. She looked Andie full in the face. "I honestly don't know what will happen, Andromeda. I cannot say we approve of your choice. It is possible we never shall. I also cannot promise anything regarding how your husband would be treated. But we are willing to try. The family must come first," she finished strongly.

Andie blinked slowly at her, then lowered her lids in a fierce, calculating expression. "I will not allow my husband or my daughter near Bellatrix, nor any of her husband's family."

The old witch nodded, almost smiling. "Naturally. As I perhaps mentioned, your dear sister has also been a topic of conversation."

"Ah, the younger generation: such horrible degenerates," Sirius interjected, this time with more mischief than malice. He grinned at his great aunt's glare.

"Hopeless, the lot of you," she replied dryly before turning back to Andie. "It is too early to take action. We do not know how things will fall out. However, your sister has been most fanatical and not at all discreet," she said with clear disapproval. "I am sure you are both shocked that we do not necessarily disapprove of her loyalties, but her actions leave a great deal to be desired. My sources indicate that should she be apprehended, and she is not making that the least unlikely, it is almost certain she will spend the remainder of her days in Azkaban. Your grandfathers have discussed cutting her off officially, for conduct unbecoming a Noble House.

"Before you get too excited, Sirius, we must wait to see how these next few weeks play out. But rest assured, she is not currently in favor."

Andie cocked an eye brow. "And what of Narcissa?"

Cassiopeia turned a sharp eye on her. "The Malfoys are, if nothing else, discreet. It is unlikely they will suffer much disgrace from this incident."

The three looked at one another for several long moments.

"So," Sirius finally broke the silence. "What happens now?"

Cassiopeia reached deep into her small beaded purse and pulled out a small box covered in black velvet. She held it for a moment, narrowing her eyes at Sirius.

"This is the main purpose of this visit. It is from your grandfather, in hopes it might smooth some of your future…endeavors. I hope you prove yourself worthy of this trust, boy."

She slid the box across the table. Sirius passed his hand over it, giving her a suspicious look. Well, so far it wasn't cursed. He angled the box so Andie could see as well and flicked it open.

He swallowed heavily, looking back at his aunt with wide eyes. "He… he can't be serious?"

At her smug look, he reached inside and pulled out a heavy ring carved from onyx. Emblazoned across the top was a familiar sigil.

The family ring of the House of Black.

* * *

 _Wed, Nov 4_

"I understand your concerns, Mr. Crouch," Minister Bagnold said firmly. "But I cannot condone, pardon the phrase, a witch hunt!"

She might as well have been talking to a piece of slate for all the good it was doing. The man was absolutely immovable.

"These people are a menace to our society, Minister. It is our duty to remove them! Every Death Eater—"

"Every Death Eater, Barty?" interrupted a gravelly voice.

The Minister and Mr. Crouch turned as two men entered the conference room.

"I find that an interesting position given recent rumors circulating about the Department." The comment was accompanied by a wicked grin.

"I have no time for games, Auror Moody," Crouch replied stiffly, "so if you would kindly get to the point."

Moody helped himself to a chair and motioned for Scrimgeour to do the same. "Oh, merely that some of our eyes and ears have reported a familiar face among the scum not smart enough to go into hiding. Tell me, what _is_ young Barty Junior up to these days?"

Crouch turned a most delightful shade of puce. Before he could reply the Minister laid a hand on his arm.

"Gentlemen, let us reserve the barbs for the pub after hours, shall we? We have a great deal of work to do."

She gave Crouch a significant look as two more members of the Wizengamot filled in. The fireplace roared to life and the Chief Warlock's imposing figure stepped into the room.

"Ah, Dumbledore. Excellent timing." Minister Bagnold took a seat herself.

"Thank you, Minister." Dumbledore waved his wand at the table and a china tea service appeared with cups for each. He paused and glanced at the two Aurors. Another flick and a steaming urn of black coffee materialized at their end.

Once everyone was seated Dumbledore steepled his fingers and leaned over the table.

"I have news from the International Confederation of Wizards."

The Minister nodded, her secretary pulling out a fresh piece of parchment.

Dumbledore continued. "The current crisis had effects far beyond our borders, and how we proceed will set a precedent for future generations here and abroad. The ICW feels we must establish a formal procedure for how to handle members of Lord Voldemort's organization, and any similar organizations that may arise in future generations. Are we to prosecute every witch and wizard who bears the Mark, or who values blood purity? Or, is it enough to focus on resolving cases of actual crimes?"

Dumbledore was interrupted by a chirp from Scrimgeour's pocket. The Auror briefly glanced at his Auror badge then whispered urgently to Moody and stood up.

"Beg pardon, Dumbledore, Minister. Moody will have to catch me up. Longbottom Mansion has just been attacked."

* * *

"I'm sorry, ma'am, there's nothing I can do."

Molly sighed and stepped away from the counter, willing herself not to cry in the middle of the hospital. She hitched the heavy basket higher on her right hip and stepped out of line, tugging a red-headed toddler after her. She was just about to take a seat in the waiting room and come up with another plan when she spotted a familiar face.

"Remus? Remus! Oh, thank goodness!" She hurried over to the man who'd just entered the hospital.

Remus looked around in surprise but quickly broke into a wide grin. "Molly! Well, well. And—who's this?" He leaned over the tiny bundle strapped to Molly's chest, snoring softly.

"Oh, this is Ginny. Just over two months," Molly beamed proudly.

"Ginny? You finally got a little girl? That's wonderful!"

Molly nodded. "And you've met Ron, of course." She tugged the small boy out from her skirts. "Ron, you remember Mr. Lupin? Yes?"

Ron merely blinked up at them.

"So, what's up, Molly? Everyone alright?"

"Oh, yes," Molly said, looking around nervously. "It's just… Since Sunday there's been no news from the Order about… well. Dumbledore is busy, and Alastor, and everyone; and no one's seen hide nor hair of Sirius; and no one can tell me how he's doing!" She looked again around the hospital waiting room. "See, I made some treats and things…" she held up a bulging basket that was emitting mouth-watering smells. "I couldn't think where else they would let me bring him, and I'm sure he could use some company," she looked pointedly at Ron. "But the ruddy clerks won't tell me what room he's in—or even acknowledge that he's here!" She sent a gimlet eye over her shoulder at the desk.

Remus smiled. "He's fine, Molly. Security is pretty high, you can imagine. They're sending him home with Sirius today. I'm actually here to speak with the Healer in charge to arrange it. Here, let me carry that," he took the heavy basket. "Follow me."

Molly visibly sagged in relief. "Oh, thank heavens! Bless you, Remus. Come along, Ronald."

* * *

 _Nov 5th_

 _"Wizards and Witches of Britain, we interrupt your regular morning programming to bring you an urgent, live announcement, direct from our Minister for Magic, Millicent Bagnold."_

Sirius wiped water from his face and glared at his godson. "That wasn't nice, Harry!"

He boy giggled and raised his hand to aim another splash at Sirius.

"That's it. We're done. Come on, pup, let's see what the old lady has to say." He swept Harry up out of the bath and deftly wrapped the wiggling toddler in a fuzzy towel. Stuffing him, upside down, under an arm, Sirius shuffled into the living room of his flat and turned up the volume on the wireless.

* * *

 _"—days of investigation involving nearly every department of the Ministry. First, we mourn the loss of two of our own. Auror James Potter and his wife, Potions Mistress Lily Potter, both gave their lives on the night of Saturday, October 31, to protect their son, Harry. The attack on the safe house where they were in hiding was perpetrated by none other than Lord Voldemort. Let us take a moment of silence to remember their sacrifice._

 _Next, it gives me joy to inform you that their son, Harry, did survive the attack. Chief Warlock Dumbledore has ascertained that Lily Potter, through noble and selfless sacrifice, triggered an ancient protective magic over her son, which caused Voldemort's Killing Curse to deflect off young Harry Potter. Harry has recently been released from Saint Mungo's in full health._

 _Thirdly, investigators from the MLE and the Department of Mysteries have confirmed that this attack concluded in a devastating loss for Lord Voldemort. It has been confirmed that the man styling himself Lord Voldemort was hit with the deflected curse, and his body was destroyed. His wand was recovered from the scene and last night was destroyed by Chief Warlock Dumbledore._

 _Lily Potter, for her bravery and sacrifice, resulting in the defeat of Lord-Voldemort, is awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. A public memorial for the Potters will be held this Saturday, at the Leiopold Gardens, at dusk._

 _On this joyous occasion, it is incumbent upon me to leave all of you with two warnings._

 _First, vigilance. The Department of Mysteries has indicated that the danger from Lord Voldemort may not be entirely gone. Nor can we guarantee that none of his followers will attempt to take his place. Remember the cost of the relief that we have received today._

 _Secondly, and finally, I urge all citizens to remember what justice is and is not. The MLE continues to hunt for those who have perpetrated crimes in the name of Lord Voldemort. But let us all remember, that the law punishes crimes only, not opinions or loyalties. If we are to lay this hard time to rest, we must put aside, also, the fear and hatred that fed this conflict. I call upon all citizens to acknowledge our just anger over the losses we have suffered. And then to let the anger lie. We must move forward. Only there can we find healing for ourselves and for our nation. And only in healing, can we find recompense._

 _Thank you._

* * *

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

The deafening crash brought Narcissa running. Smoking in the corner of the parlor lay the remains of a wireless. Across the room stood a panting Bellatrix.

"How dare they? How dare they say he's dead?! He can't _die!_ " She paced through the room like a crazed animal, clutching at her hair and half muttering half screaming.

Three men sat or stood through the room. One, Narcissa's brother-in-law, stood brooding angrily near the window. She knew he shared his wife's sentiments. His brother, Rabastan, sat on the settee, his head in his hands, massaging his temples. The third, a tanned young man with light brown hair and a smattering of freckles sat casually in an arm chair plucking feathers from one of her pillows.

She snatched the pillow, repaired it with a hasty _reparo_ , and hit him other the head with it. Hard! She may or may not have partially transfigured the pillow into wood before-hand.

"Calm yourself, dear Bella," said Lucius, striding through the French doors at the other end of the room. A moment later a house elf appeared with a jug of brandy. Rabastan was the only one to take any.

"Calm? CALM?!" Bella shrieked. "How can you say that, Lucius?! How?! Do you care nothing for Dark Lord?! He has been missing for four days!"

"Yes," Lucius sneered. "Four days. Nearly five. During which time, has he contacted you? Has he contacted any of us? No. He has not. Regardless of whether or not he is 'dead' the fact is that he is _gone!"_

"How dare you?" Bella replied, trembling with anger. "Traitor! Turn coat! You would abandon him?!"

"He abandoned us." Lucius said calmly, though Narcissa noted he said it from the other side of the room from Bella.

"Just wait! Just you wait, sister," she said, turning to Narcissa. Narcissa was at once disgusted and disturbed by the fever in her eyes. The woman clearly needed a healer, perhaps a _mind healer_. "You'll see. I'll find him. And then your precious husband will be sorry!"

"And how will you do that, darling sister, when you have no wand?" spat Lucius, venomously.

Bella paled. Rodolphus finally turned from the window to gaze dispassionately at the scene. Narcissa noted his careful lack of expression. He was not pleased with the results of their latest… escapade.

"They know," Bella broke out. "The Ministry! The Aurors! They have to know. That… _Longbottom_ was in Dubmledore's inner circle! He knows that they did with my Master!" She was building herself into a frenzy now.

After nearly a week of searching—and quite frankly if the Dark Lord had been alive to be found Bella was certainly the most likely to accomplish it—poor Bella was driving herself insane with the frustration. Most unfortunately she seemed to be dragging these three men with her. Though young Crouch might be just as mad as Bella, in his own way.

"So you decided to attack the home of one of Crouch's top Aurors?" Lucius demanded referring to Crouch the elder. "Did you even check for wards? Or did you run in wand blazing as usual with no reconnaissance?"

Rodolphus frowned at Lucius briefly, but made no move to defend his wife.

Bella flushed.

"Be grateful Rodolphus kept his head or you would be in a cell right now." Lucius grabbed a tumbler from the tray left behind by the house elf and poured himself a glass of brandy.

"And what have you done?" Bella spat, advancing towards Lucius. "Hiding here in your mansion. Like a COWARD!" she screamed and lunged towards Lucius.

Narcissa reacted before she could think. Bella was blasted aside and struck the wall hard. Narcissa strode forward and planted herself in front of Lucius, barely registering his surprised and appreciative expression.

"It's over, Bella," she heard herself say coldly. "He left you. He left _all_ of you. Hold on to what you still have, while you have it."

Bella looked at her in shock, as if looking at a stranger. Slowly she straightened and tilted her chin imperiously at her sister.

"The Ministry has your wand, Bella," Narcissa continued, "and Rabastan's. You are _powerless_. What's more, you were _seen_. They are hunting for you everywhere. You think they won't look here? You need to get out. Run, all of you."

Narcissa stepped back to Lucius' side and cast a glance sideways to Rodolphus. The man remained expressionless. She couldn't tell what he would do, but there was no fight left in him.

"And Bella," Narcissa said, turning back to her sister. "If you ever come here again, the Aurors will be at the gate before you can say 'apparate.'"

She felt Lucius' surprised look over her shoulder.

Bella paled and flushed by turns, the tension returning to her limbs until she shook with it.

"You…" Bella spat at Narcissa's feet. "You are not worthy of the title pureblood. You are not worthy of the House of Black! You, your coward of a husband, your wretched spawn—"

Not even Narcissa saw the slap coming until Bella stumbled back and Narcissa felt her own hand stinging.

She took a trembling step towards her shocked sister.

"I said," her voice vibrating with menace, "get out of my house."

Rodolphus finally moved. Striding past Lucius and Narcissa he grabbed his brother's arm and shoved him towards the door. He put an arm around his wife and began to guide her that way as well. At the door he turned back and snapped his fingers at Crouch. Crouch let out a bored sigh and rose to follow. As Crouch passed, Rodolphus looked at each of them in turn, then nodded solemnly.

Then they were gone.

Narcissa let out a long slow breath and drooped over the back of a chair. After a moment she straightened, though she still felt entirely drained. _Where did all that come from?_ She'd never challenged Bella in her life!

She turned to see Lucius looking at her. She tilted her chin, waiting for him to admonish her for overstepping his authority in his own house. To her surprise a smile slowly spread across his face, possibly one of the most honest and open smiles she had ever seen. He raised a glass to her.

"Touché, my love." He drained the brandy. "Touché."

* * *

Kingsley Shackelbolt often wondered at life's little ironies.

Potter was dead, Black was on leave indefinitely (no one knew precisely _what_ he was doing), a toddler survived a Killing Curse, and half the Auror department was searching for a rat. Morgana bless the informant who gave them that juicy tidbit! Kingsley had been just two classes ahead of Potter and Black at the Auror Academy. They hadn't interacted much, he he'd run them through a few drills. Disgustingly capable, the two of them.

As the junior member on the task force he had been assigned to watch the enchanted map and alert the team if anything turned up.

All week they had been setting up wards and traps throughout London: some to deflect actual vermin, but not affect an animagus, some to strip away all disguises (including forcing animagi to transform), and countless other variations. The Oblivaitors might be busy later this week, but… oh well.

Kingsley sighed and stood to refill his coffee cup. He stopped when a blue light appeared on the map.

 _Finally!_

He tapped his badge, sending coordinates to all active Aurors, and apparated from the office with a feral grin.

Time to hunt himself a rat.

* * *

"This… this can't be real," the dark haired man said.

Across the table the aged wizard nodded.

"The Wizengamot approved it this morning. You can see the seal. Some of them disapproved, but others were quite delighted."

The younger man regarded the seal, knowing it was genuine but hardly daring to accept it.

"I don't deserve this, Dumbledore."

"It is an opportunity, Severus," the old warlock said sternly, "to begin again. Surely, you don't object to the offer?"

Severus swallowed heavily. "Of course not," he said quickly. "But how? I expected a trial at the least."

Dumbledore merely raised a brow and Severus let it lie.

It was still too good to be true. Of course, there were conditions. Severus read again through that part of the agreement. For the next year he'd have to visit monthly with a Ministry representative, or have a report sent from his supervisor; he'd have to apply for permission to travel internationally, though baring future misbehavior that was merely a formality; any illegal activity committed in the next five years, magical or otherwise, would result in a full trial as accessory to murder, with a hefty fine and time in Azkaban virtually guaranteed.

But his shock came from the second piece of parchment, which both justified and eclipsed the offer of probation.

At the recommendation of the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, he, Severus Tobias Snape, was admitted as a laboratory assistant to the premier potions university in all of Europe. He would study for his Potions Mastery under the greatest Masters on the continent!

Severus stared at the line at the bottom of the parchment, waiting for his signature. One stroke of a quill and his future was all but ensured. He really had no other options at the moment. A rotting old town house that had never been a home… every colleague he'd ever had either on the run or hating him… Not much to stop him from accepting.

"How long would I have?" he asked.

Dumbledore smiled. "Are you packed?"

Severus shrugged. "Just a bag to grab in Cokeworth. Take two seconds."

"I can portkey you to Amsterdam in…" the Warlock consulted a most unusual pocket watch. "An hour?"

Severus nodded and stood.

At the door he turned back. "Dumbledore… you mentioned… the boy?"

Sharp blue eyes looked up at him. "I did. He has Lily's eyes. If you wish to see him—"

"No," Severus interrupted quickly. "No, that won't be necessary. But he is… well?"

Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfully. "He is. And he will be well provided for and well protected. The process to determine his wardship begins tomorrow."

Severus nodded. He wanted nothing to do with the boy, really. It would be entirely too painful. And he despised children.

He turned to leave and again stopped and turned back. He met the piercing blue eyes. "If he ever needs anything…"

Dumbledore smiled and that ridiculous twinkle shone out of his eyes. He gave Severus another deep nod. "One hour, Severus."

* * *

 **A/N:** For the record, it's unlikely the Malfoys will play a major role in the long run either as pro- or an- tagonists. But I do LOVE writing these scenes with Narcissa! I had most of another scene written where Lucius and Narcissa run into Sirius, Andie, and Cassie as they all leave respective restaurants. Cassie scolds them all like children and makes Lucius feel about 12 years old. It was epic. It also made for a bit too much of the Black family gig for this chapter. I might finish it up and post it down the line as a bonus chapter.


	6. Being Black

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter or anything connected with it. JKR is the Queen of Everything!

* * *

 _Friday, November 6th_

Most of his life Remus Lupin had tried to see the silver lining in his lycanthropy, with little success. The benefits (enhanced senses and stamina in the middle of the month) were far outweighed by the disadvantages (two to three days of the flu on one side or the other of the full moon, when the enhanced senses resulted in migraines more often than not, on top of the prejudice, the painful transformations, and the whole trying not to kill your friends and family, or the whole neighborhood).

But if this last week were any indication, in his new role in the Department of Mysteries it might truly become an asset.

Prewett had immediately assigned him to Carmichael's team. Carmichael, for his part, was delighted. Though he openly admitted he had no idea _why_ he needed Remus on this particular project, he was adamant that _now_ they were sure to succeed at—wait, _defeating Voldemort?_

That had taken some explanation.

Best of all, none of the Unspeakables had blinked an eye lash at his condition. Apparently, with all the weirdness they dealt with on a daily basis, lycanthropy wasn't even worth a second thought. They had the most advanced potions research team in Britain inventing things around the clock; the Wolfsbane potion wouldn't be a problem. They also had a few extra-dimensional rooms that could not only lock him away safely during the transformation, but also provide him with massive forests to run through and even prey to chase. All just part of the job.

The clock struck three a.m. and thanks to the enhanced stamina (which would disappear sometime over the weekend as the full moon approached), Remus was feeling just fine, despite not having slept since Tuesday—though DoM coffee might have something to do with that as well. It was definitely enhanced with something. Jayden swore it was just cinnamon, but Remus was doubtful. Unless some wizards had special ways of growing cinnamon so that when combined with caffeine it quadrupled the effectiveness and also got rid of the accompanying jitters, headaches, and stomach cramps... From what he'd seen of the other Unspeakables, he wouldn't be at all surprised. They were truly a weird bunch.

Remus grabbed another manuscript from the stack on his right. He jotted notes straight onto the parchment table as he went. Now this was an invention he wished they could spread to the public! He'd heard of, even seen, Muggle computers, but these enchanted surfaces were truly amazing!

Carmichael walked in, suppressing a yawn. "Good God, Remus, you're still here?"

Remus shrugged. "What about you?"

"Oh, I almost never leave," Carmichael replied. "I have a bunk in… well, actually I think it follows me through the Department. Couldn't sleep, thought I'd check on the team's notes. Anything interesting?"

Remus slid the manuscripts aside and tapped the table. Ink flowed out from his wand point to show all his notes from the past ten hours of research. With a wry glance at the mug in his superior's hand, Remus tapped Carmichael's coffee mug with a refilling charm.

"So far, we've identified almost a dozen ancient artifacts that _could_ be of interest to Riddle. We're still narrowing down the list. Most are legendary to the point that it's hard to tell if they really existed, and if so, where they could be now. But it's a start."

Carmichael stared thoughtfully at the list. "Have you had any luck with the boy's scar?"

That had been, in part, why they had sent Remus to tell Saint Mungo's to release Harry. Somehow, Carmichael had a hunch there was a connection between the boy's scar and what had happened to Voldemort. He fully intended to capitalize on Remus' close relationship with the Potters to move their research forward.

"Not yet," Remus replied. "It's definitely evil though. Whatever is in that scar is the Darkest curse I've ever encountered. It reeks."

"You think it's dangerous?"

"How could it not be dangerous? I have no idea what it might do, since we don't know what it is."

"Could it be dangerous to those around him or just to Harry?"

"Both most likely, but at this point we really don't know. Personally, I'm more worried about Harry."

"Has he shown any adverse effects?"

"Not so far. But he can't exactly talk yet, so who knows. He hasn't been sleeping well, I know that. Seems like night terrors, which could be just from the attack and not having his parents around, or it could be something more nefarious."

Carmichael rubbed a hand across his chin. "I hate to get involved in politics…"

Remus waited for him to continue. "But…?" he prompted.

Carmichael rubbed both hands furiously through his hair, making it stand on end in a giant, messy, brown halo. "Gah. I know that scar is connected to whatever's up with Voldemort. Somehow, it is. I just don't want us to lose track of the kid. He could be final link to let us catch the bastard, or, who knows, maybe we'll stumble across whatever we need to get that curse out of him. But I don't really want to get involved with social services."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "You think I would let Harry just disappear?"

"You're not applying to be his guardian though."

"True," said Remus. "But my best friend _is."_

Carmichael rubbed his jaw again. "You think he would cooperate? Let us examine Harry every so often, just to keep tabs, see how he's doing? See if we get any clues?"

Remus shrugged. "Sirius is over protective, but he's not an idiot."

"Hmm." Carmichael started tapping his chin now. "Would it be overstepping for one of us to give a statement to social services, do you think?"

Remus laughed. "You're asking me?"

Carmichael stretched. "Well, check with them in the morning, yeah? See what Harry's situation is and what we can do to make sure they don't ship him off to Siberia or something."

"Sure thing, boss," Remus replied as Carmichael headed towards the coffee pot in the next room.

* * *

Sirius sloshed coffee over his hands and bathrobe. He barely refrained from cursing out loud. _Who in Morgana's name is calling at this hour?_

A giggle made him glare across the kitchen at the toddler strapped to the high chair.

"Laugh it up, pup. One day you'll be pissed over spilled coffee too." He set the mug down on the counter and cast a cursory cleaning spell over his bathrobe as he made his way to the door.

The crystal ball mounted inside the threshold showed the distorted image of a tall, slender man with neatly cropped, grey hair standing outside his door, surrounded by a small mountain of parcels wrapped in brown paper.

"Who are you?" Sirius barked suspiciously.

"Ah, Master Black! Good morning!" a slightly warbled voice came from the ball. "It has been some years since we met—"

Sirius had no recollection of this person at all. How had he found Sirius' flat? It wasn't under a Fidelius or anything, but he didn't widely broadcast his address either.

"I am Clyn Glenworth Taft, Chief Solicitor for the House of Black. Lord Arcturus has put me at your disposal for today, possibly the foreseeable future. Unless you have some objection…"

Sirius felt his heart speed up. _Grandfather's solicitor?_ In the right circles the man was legendary. What could he possibly need with a…a…

His eyes swept back to the kitchen where Harry was delightedly flinging applesauce at the ceiling, trying to hit the birds, Quidditch payers, and aeroplanes Sirius had enchanted to fly across it for Harry's amusement (okay, James had enchanted the Quidditch players two years ago for _Sirius'_ amusement). Sirius had added a few Quiddith balls to the mix and was stunned the first time Harry had seen the Snitch. The illustration was tiny and would only show up every few hours, but somehow, every time Harry was in the kitchen at some point he would point up at the ceiling squealing "S'itch! S'itch!"

The first wardship hearing was this afternoon. If he was perfectly honest Sirius had been avoiding thinking about it. The fear of possibly _losing_ , in addition to his complete lack of any experience with this sort of thing, had paralyzed him.

"Master Black?" came Taft's voice. "Might I come in? We have much to discuss in a very short period of time."

 _Short?_ Sirius thought. It was barely seven in the morning! They had eight hours until the hearing; what could possibly take that long? Well, he'd be a fool to turn down the best solicitor in Wizarding Britain!

He swung open the door to see a smile glide over Taft's lips. To say the man was slender was a gross understatement. His face was so chiseled it could have been carved from flint. The finely tailored robes only enhanced the effect. His expression, however, positively beamed. The combination of the severe figure and amiable nature was rather disconcerting.

"Ah, excellent," Taft said. "A pleasure to meet you again, sir." He held out an equally emaciated, though expertly manicured, hand.

"Uh, likewise," Sirius said, taking the hand. He suddenly felt positively _fat._

"Ah, 'fit' I think is the word you are after" said Taft. "You might want to work on your Occlumency shields before the hearing. You never know who could be a Legilimens on the other side." Taft stepped past Sirius and adroitly flicked his wand over his shoulder. The parcels marched in after him.

Sirius blinked past the realization that this man was obviously a Legilimens himself. "What's all this?" he gestured at the dancing parcels lining up in his living room.

"Lord Arcturus suspected—though I suspect Lady Cassiopeia planted the idea—that you might not have attire suitable to your station and such an occasion as a wardship hearing." He glanced pointedly around the flat. While much neater than most 'bachelor pads' Sirius had encountered, it was by no means a centerpiece of high wizarding society.

Sirius looked at the looming pile of parcels. "These are all clothes?"

"Of course," Taft said brightly. "Well, that one is actually my notes," he waved his wand and a flat box floated over to the kitchen table and began unpacking itself, revealing several portfolios of parchment, ink bottles and colored quills. "Oh, and this one is for young Master Harry." Another flick and a different box shuffled itself aside. "But all of these are for you."

Taft was looking at him critically. "I assume you are rather attached to the hair. No matter. My elf can arrange it splendidly."

Sirius stared at him in horror.

"Now," the man clapped his hands. "Take me to young Master Harry. It is so very fortunate that you were able to gain temporary custody. This gives us quite the edge. I must have a statement from him, and get some evidence together from the…flat." He might have deflated just the tiniest bit as he looked more astutely around the less than palatial residence. "Hmm. Some arranging might be in order before we take photographs…"

"Photographs?" Sirius echoed hollowly.

Taft nodded, recovering his energy. "Oh, yes, as evidence of the upbringing available to young Master Harry. Of course, I already have evidence of the preparations at the other properties."

Sirius was starting to get a headache. "What other properties?" he choked.

"The other Black properties of course." Taft blinked at him and suddenly became quite serious. "Master Sirius, has it not fully occurred to you what it _means_ to be the Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?"

He let that hang for a moment, studying Sirius' face. "Clearly not. I had expected your father to have… well. That's all in the past. Let me sketch it out briefly for you before we begin preparations. We have a great deal to do before today's hearing, but this must be settled first.

"You are one of the, let's say, 50 most influential people in Wizarding Britain, outside the Wizengamot itself. Only your grandfather Arcturus can overrule any decision you make with regards to Black family properties or funds—though I strongly advise you to consult with myself or Sir Harrington, the Family Agent, before making any decisions or expenditures of note. You may call upon any retainer of the Family to aid you in any way. I shall make sure you have a list, though eventually we should introduce you formally.

"You also have the Masters' Liberty of all Black Family properties. There are some properties owned privately by certain of your family members, but there are… oh, I think a dozen at least to which you have total freedom. Castle Donerth, in particular, has a most impressive nursery."

Taft paused and Sirius slowly lowered himself onto the sofa, feeling entirely overwhelmed. He vaguely remembered visiting his grandfather at a castle in his childhood, but his mother had been very attached to the London scene. He supposed at some point his parents had probably tried to fill him in on some of this, but frankly he'd had no interest in the family after his Sorting. They didn't like him being in Gryffindor? Well, bully for them! He'd tuned out everything after that. He'd actually forgotten that his grandfather was, legitimately, a Lord.

"So…" he said slowly. "This hearing this afternoon."

Taft smiled almost sadly. "I am taking it very seriously, Master Sirius," the man's lips twitched only slightly. "But, to be quite frank, if there are any other challengers it will be rather like a garden snake taking on a basilisk, if you get my meaning. Once you see it all out on paper the case really is _quite_ one sided. So far, my sources indicate that all potential challengers have only _offered_ to raise the boy, but no one has indicated any intent to _claim_ him."

"That's… good," Sirius said.

Taft nodded. "Oh, that's very good. Now, why don't you introduce me to young Master Harry, then you go… uh, freshen up, while I arrange some things in the flat?"

Half an hour later Sirius stepped out of the shower. Listening hard he could hear Harry giggling from another room. Glancing through the crack in his bedroom door he saw Taft and Harry both sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling madly on piles of parchment. Next to Taft sat a stack of neatly folded letters clearly ready to be sent off. Next to Harry was a stack of… well, it looked like a pile of origami had exploded around the toddler. As he watched Harry held up a piece for Taft's approval. The man paused in his writing to start critically at the toddler's scribbles. Harry had been no end of delighted with Taft's color changing quill. Taft nodded approvingly and handed Harry his wand.

Sirius nearly choked and lunged to open the door and retrieve the wand! Flinging the door open he stopped mid-stride as the toddler gleefully, and proudly, tapped his scribbled parchment. The paper jumped from the table and folded itself about ten different ways, and then exploded into a firework of paper.

Harry squealed as the pieces reattached themselves at random and joined the pile.

"Well done, young Master Harry," said Taft, deftly trading his wand for the colored quill.

Harry looked proudly at the stack of exploded paper and went back to drawing.

"Ah, Master Black!" Taft said, glancing up. "Oh!" a flush of red passed briefly over the man's face. "I took the liberty of laying out some of your new clothes for the day. When you are ready, Prudy will help with any finishing touches."

Sirius stared at him for a moment, still at a loss for the trick with the parchment. Taft cleared his throat. "Never fear, Master Black. I have had to oversee quite a number of children from time to time, yourself included, in fact. Young Master Harry is quite alright for the time being. Perhaps you'd like to get dressed, hm?"

Sirius suddenly realized he hadn't grabbed his robe and the towel he'd been holding was only barely covering enough for minimal modesty. He quickly retreated into the bedroom.

"Don't worry, young Master Harry," he heard Taft say in (hopefully) mock seriousness, "Between us I'm sure we can straighten him out. We'll make a young Lord of him yet."

 _What the hell have I gotten myself into now?_

* * *

"Ugh, all these Death Eaters are useless!" Celestia announced, dropping a stack of notes onto the table.

Meaghana and Carmichael looked up at her. The normally dreamy eyed witch was focused and fuming.

"They are nothing but petty thugs. Can't the MLE arrest anyone _interesting?_ "

Meaghana sipped her tea. "The Legilimency not going well, then?"

"Ugh," Celestia repeated, dropping into a chair with an exaggerated sulk. She flicked her wand at the delicate china teapot in the corner. "These idiots don't know their Dark Lord's favorite _color_ not to mention anything that might be connected to his immortality."

She sipped her own tea, grimacing at the strong and dark blend that Meaghana preferred. "It also doesn't help that apparently Riddle is at least moderately intelligent. He kept his people separated and they wore those hideous masks nearly all the time unless they were only with their own little group. Oh, sure some people are recognizable, but on the whole it's a tangle of dead ends."

Carmichael sent her a sympathetic smile. "Well, we never thought he was an idiot, and he certainly wasn't the trusting sort."

Celestia heaved a great, disappointed sigh. "I just wish they could actually dig up somebody _useful._ "

"What about what's-his-name? Malfoy? Isn't he supposed to be pretty high up?" Meaghana asked.

" _Supposedly_ ," Celestia huffed. "But Crouch won't move on him until they have some solid charge to bring against him. So far he isn't even implicated in anything. Even in the heads of these scum bags he's just a rumor. None of them know of anything he's actually _done._ "

Carmichael frowned thoughtfully. "So if he _is_ a Death Eater…."

"Then he's the bloody cream of the crop!" Celestia said passionately. "For all we know he could have been running absolutely bloody everything and just been too damn smart to let anyone actually know who was giving the orders."

"You're swearing, darling," Meaghana said mildly. She sat back in her chair, swirling her tea and humming. "That would be rather brilliant," she said at length, returning to the topic at hand.

"Yes. Brilliant and entirely _un-helpful!"_ Celestia pouted.

"Don't give up yet, dear," Meaghana said warmly. "I hear Auror Moody is hot after the Lestrange crew. They have the most horrid horoscope I've ever seen; luck will not favor them _at all_. He should have them in the next day or so. That'll be sure to brighten you up."

"Isn't the Lestrange woman supposed to be a pretty good Occlumens?" Carmichael asked. His eyes flickered between the two women and he nearly choked at the feral glint in Celestia's normally soft face.

"Oh, yes. Rumor has it she's _quite_ good. I do love a challenge. That would be most... exhilarating."

* * *

Sirius found himself admiring the clothes laid across the bed. He was forced, somewhat reluctantly, to come to the conclusion that he did not, in fact, hate robes, even formal robes. Apparently his mother just had truly atrocious taste. For almost five years he'd refused to wear any robes not required by either Hogwarts or the Auror department.

He was rather suspicious of the expert fit, since he hadn't visited a tailor since he was 15, so no one could possibly have his current measurements, and he couldn't detect any re-sizing charms.

Clearly, whoever had done the shopping had studied him personally before-hand. The grey fabric, very like that used in muggle suits, was almost imperceptibly laced with blue, and the ensemble was lined and trimmed with midnight blue, a combination that he knew always set off his eyes to advantage. There was nothing at all fussy about the outfit. Everything was sharp, crisp, and businesslike. Even the cravat was devoid of lace and set with a mild silver pin. The outer robes fell just to the ankles, appearing both elegant and casual at the same time, opening just enough to show off the finery beneath.

Once he had it all on, he turned to the mirror and stared at himself in shock. He looked… impressive.

His resemblance to his father was much more pronounced and not at all as unfortunate as Sirius had always thought it would be.

"Very splendid, I must say," Taft said from the doorway. "Though there is still the matter of the hair." He snapped his fingers and a young house elf popped into the room. "Prudy will polish you up. When you are ready, please join me so we can go over a few plans for this afternoon."

Taft vanished back to the living room.

Sirius stared down at the elf, who was walking around him with a critical eye. She grabbed his hand and examined his nails, tsking loudly. With a snap Sirius found himself in just the shirt and trousers, the rest of the outfit neatly folded on the bed.

"Sit," the house elf commanded, pointing to a newly conjured chair at the foot of the bed.

Sirius frowned. He'd never liked house elves to begin with and now this one was bossing him around? In his own flat?! "Not to be rude, but what exactly are you planning to do?"

She—he was pretty sure it was a she—tsked at him again. "Master Black is having to look his best for the hearing today. He is needing to look polished and professional. Grubby fingernails and ratty hair like a garden gnome be not helping."

She snapped her fingers and Sirius was suddenly sitting in the chair, a thin cape draped over his lap and tied around his neck, with the elf perched on a stool at his side holding his right hand tightly in hers as she raised a menacing nail file. "This is being quite shameful, Master Black." She looked up at him reproachfully. "You is being quite still now, yes?" not waiting for an answer she attacked his nails with vigor.

* * *

Remus Lupin was normally hard to fluster, but this time his jaw dropped and he literally _gaped_ at the figure that entered the conference room.

This man was not his friend Padfoot. This man was _Sirius Black_ , of the noted _Noble_ _and Most Ancient_ House of Black.

Only the 15 month old held securely on the man's left hip and the slight nervous twitch—which only someone with Remus' long familiarity would notice—told him that this was, in fact, his friend. Remus noted a few other surprised glances from around the room. While it was not a public hearing, or even a formal one, apparently a number of people had, if not right or reason to comment on Harry Potter's guardianship, right to know what happened.

Behind Sirius came a gentleman that would only be described as "sharp," carrying a very posh briefcase— _attache_ , Remus corrected himself. As the gentleman began pulling neat stacks of parchment from the case, Remus approached Sirius.

"Nice, uh, robes, Pads," he said skeptically. "What happened?"

Sirius smiled wanly at Remus. "Aunt Cassie and Grandad Arcturus, apparently. They sent Taft over this morning," Sirius jerked his head at the other wizard, "with a mountain of clothes and the most demanding house elf I've ever met."

"Well, you certainly look…"

Sirius heaved a put upon sigh. "I know. I look effing fabulous. God, I'm starting to _understand_ _Malfoy_."

"I take it things are going well with the family, then?" Remus chuckled.

"Let's see you get stuffed into a set of posh duds and have your hair yanked about for an hour and see you call it 'well!' She even did my _nails!"_ Sirius finished in a horrified whisper, looking down at the offending articles.

Remus stifled a laugh. "Well, at least you look the part. I see Harry got the star treatment as well."

Harry was too busy looking around the room to pay much attention to them, but Remus had to admit he looked both sharp and adorable in the posh little robes.

"What brings you here anyway, Moony?" Sirius asked.

"Oh, I'm here on Department business."

Sirius arched a brow and shifted slightly away from his friend. _What does the Department of Mysteries have to do with Harry_? He'd wondered about those two visitors early in the week who'd been so interested in Harry's scar, and of course Remus had been the one to finally convince Saint Mungo's to release the boy. Remus held out a placating hand.

"Don't worry. I think it will actually help your case."

The door at the far end swung open.

"Are we all present?" called a pleasant, middle aged witch. "Shall we begin?"

As he took his seat Remus saw Taft lean over Sirius' shoulder and, thanks to his enhanced werewolf senses, heard the man whisper, "Remember, say as little as possible. Leave everything to me."

* * *

Celestia glared at the memo as it fell to the table top after colliding rudely with her head. Recognizing the MLE crest her mood brightened she eagerly unfolded the parchment.

 _What's this? I've never heard of a Death Eater named Pettigr— oh, my! How very interesting. Now we're getting somewhere!_

* * *

Sirius settled Harry on his lap with a book of animal pictures that capered about. He cast a quick spell to muffle the sounds so they wouldn't interrupt the meeting, and then tried his best to pay attention through his nerves.

A representative from the Estate Department opened the proceedings by reading the relevant excerpt from the Potters' Will. Aside from a few gifts and donations, all monies and properties were to be held in trust until Harry's coming of age. A goblin by the name of Griphook was named as their agent at Gringotts, to ensure the deeds and titles were in order and the vaults safely held until that time. A separate vault was to be established with a generous sum to provide for Harry's needs until then, and it would be entrusted to whoever became his guardian. Compared to the fortunes of families like the Blacks and Malfoys, the Potter fortune was modest indeed. Nevertheless, with proper management Harry could easily live out his life on the interest alone.

A few names, all members of the Order, were listed as alternative guardians should Sirius be killed in the War or otherwise unable to care for Harry. At yesterday's official reading of the entire will, Sirius had noted Remus' surprise at being the top name on that list.

"Well, that is nicely straightforward," declared Madam Penelope Brown, the chief solicitor for social services for this case, and mediator for the hearing. "I believe there are some blood relations still living? Shall we get that out of the way?" She turned to Emmaline Vance.

Emmaline actually flushed. "Well, Harry has a number of distant cousins in the Wizarding World: his closest being a second cousin once removed, a Bran Potter[i], also descended from the House of Black through his mother. Unfortunately, we have been unable to locate Mr. Potter. He left Durmstrang in '71, with honors, and, far as we can tell, hasn't been heard from since. Apparently he expressed some interest in specialized studies in the Far East. I'm afraid Mr. Bran Potter is the only other living member of the Potter line. Among other distant cousins of Harry, on his father's side at least, no one is close enough to make a Blood claim."

Madam Brown made some notes. "What of his mother's family?"

There were a few soft sniffs and huffs at this comment, and both Sirius and Remus shot glares at the room at large.

"Lily Potter," Emmaline began pointedly, joining the glares against those who had dared imply anything less than reverence for the woman who would, tomorrow, receive the Order of Merlin, "has a surviving sister. Her parents, sadly, departed last year, both of natural causes common among Muggles."

Emmaline shifted uncomfortably on the hard chair. "I have met with Mrs. Dursley, the sister, and her family. While I am hardly one to disparage Muggles in general—they often do quite well for themselves— _these_ Muggles are some of the saddest excuses for humanity I've had the misfortune to encounter in all my years. They have no interest in their nephew, not even desiring to see him. The word 'freak' was applied with great liberality. I cannot, under any circumstances, advise they be approached about taking him as a ward. They are—"

"Utterly loathsome toads?" Sirius couldn't help himself.

"Pitiful wastes of air?" Remus suggested from across the table.

"Nasty, mean, ignorant—"

"Yes, thank you, Master Black. That will be quite enough," said Madam Brown.

Taft frowned at Sirius, who shrugged. Once a Marauder, always a Marauder, fancy dress robes notwithstanding (well, Wormtail was permanently excommunicated).

"Thank you, Miss Vance," Madam Brown continued. She turned to the witch on her other side. "Madam Smythwethr?"

The same blond witch that had visited Sirius at Saint Mungo's tapped the parchment before her. "At this point, we have received a number of inquiries from friends and associates of the Potters. Most simply want assurance that Harry will be cared for, a few offering everything from toys and funds to a home— _should they be needed."_ She finished with strong emphasis.

She sent a strong look down the table to the very polished Sirius. "Master Black is, at this time, the only one to _request_ wardship of young Mr. Potter."

Madam Brown looked around the room as if waiting for any interjections. "Very well," she said pleasantly. "Master Black, it is your intention to claim Harry Potter as your ward, to provide for his needs, his education, and train him in his duties as a wizard of Britain?"

"It is," Sirius said solemnly, with no hesitation.

The three solicitors continued to look at him, as if waiting for something more.

"I'm his godfather," Sirius continued sternly. "I promised James and Lily I'd look after him."

Madam Brown nodded. "Are there any objections to Mr. Potter become a ward of Master Sirius Black?" she asked the room at large.

Sirius swallowed and looked at Taft. The man was glaring down his nose at the room with a fierce, hungry expression.

Madam Smythwether cleared her throat. "We have received no formal objections. However, it may behoove us to address some… comments and lay a few matters to rest once and for all. I fear that otherwise we leave an opening for the wardship to be challenged in the future. "

When Madam Brown nodded, Smythwether continued. "It has been pointed out during our inquiries that Sirius Black has a rocky history with his family, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. If relations are indeed so estranged it could present unnecessary complications to his ability to care for Harry. The family could make life quite difficult for him and his ward. The Blacks are also long known to be, by and large, adept practitioners of Dark magic; some may wonder if this is a suitable environment to raise a child. There is also the fact that two of Sirius Black's close relations are known to be, or to have been, among the ranks of the man who murdered Harry's parents. Some may wonder how far among the Black family this loyalty went and how safe Harry would be in such a family.

"I reiterate that these are not formal objections; merely that is would behoove us, as the body responsible for placing Mr. Potter in an adequate situation, and for Master Sirius Black, to consider and prepare answers for these concerns."

Madam Brown made some more notes and then looked down the long table towards Sirius. "Master Black, as these are not formal objections they will not prevent you being able to claim Harry as your ward and you will not be _required_ to answer them. There being no other objections, we will begin the formal wardship process, which at this point is all formality. The next step is for us to review the information you have provided regarding your ability to care for Harry, and draw up the formal documents. At most, we should have everything in order in two weeks' time, when you will need to present Harry here again to close the wardship. Madam Smythwether will be contacting you to schedule the appointments.

"Before we adjourn, if you would like to address the comments brought by Madam Smythwethr, you have the floor."

Sirius swallowed and looked at Taft to find the man already on his feet.

"Esteemed ladies and gentlemen, we are pleased to address the concerns brought by Madam Smythwethr. As Chief Solicitor for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, I am most happy to inform you that there is no estrangement between the House of Black and its heir, Master Sirius Black. In token of his faith and goodwill, and recognizing the crucial role Master Sirius will play in the formative times ahead, Lord Arcturus Aldebaran Black, _pater familia_ of the House of Black, has granted Master Sirius Freedom of the Seal."

There were a few gasps around the room at that little tidbit. Remus noted for the first time the heavy black ring on Sirius' hand.

Taft continued. "Master Sirius Orion Black has the full blessing of Lord Arcturus to take young Master Harry Potter on as his ward. He does and shall continue to enjoy the full resources as the Heir of this Noble and Most Ancient House to provide, entirely at this discretion, whatever he deems necessary in the caring of his ward.

"The Codex of the Noble Houses clearly states that any ward of a Noble House shall have the full protection of said House. The House of Black is prepared to offer young Master Harry every protection imaginable should the need arise."

Taft paused, though Sirius was certain it was for effect and not for any need to organize his own thoughts.

"It is true that two persons carrying the blood of this Noble House did indeed swear fealty to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. However, Sirius' own brother Regulus, who once bore his mark, was later murdered by this same villain. The other person to bear the Mark has brought nothing but shame upon the Family and her only future is one behind bars. She shall find no refuge in the House of Black."

Madams Brown and Smythwethr were taking furious notes and both seemed pleased with Taft's speech.

"In closing…" Taft paused and pulled out his wand. " _Maxima_ _Nox,_ " he whispered. The lights all around the room went out. " _Totus_ _Lumos!"_ he said after only a few heartbeats and they all flickered to life again. "What, I ask, is Dark Magic?"

A wave of muttering spread around the room.

"Nox is used by nearly every witch or wizard on a daily basis, and yet its one and only purpose is to bring darkness. Is this not, then, the very definition of Dark Magic? These are very potent words in these times, when Dark Magic has been used to terrorized and dominate so many for so long. However, let us not forget that even the Dark Arts have an ancient and noble history. Scholars of magical theory will tell us, and have told us for centuries, that what we term Light or Dark in reference to magic could as easily be termed Blue or Green, at least in so far as the terms relate to good or evil. _Incendio_ can cause as much pain as the Cruciatus. The House of Black has indeed produced many witches and wizards over the centuries with prodigious talents in the Dark Arts. Yet they remain, as a whole, exemplary members of our society. This question, then, amounts to little more than a dispute over philosophy, and can hardly make any witch or wizard, even a self-proclaimed Dark Witch or Wizard, an unsuitable guardian."

Taft bowed to Madam Brown. She was frowning after that last speech, but didn't seem overly upset. Sirius hoped this was a good sign. He might have to talk to Dumbledore about this whole Light vs Dark business. His mother had certainly been proud of being a Dark Witch, as was Bella, and they were both evil _and_ crazy as far as Sirius was concerned.

At length, Madam Brown, cleared her throat.

"Thank you, Mr. Taft. That was quite illuminating, and I think answers the objections handily. Your statement is noted. I believe we have here a request from the Department of Mysteries to add a statement before we close?"

Across from Sirius, Remus rose, sending his friend a wink.

"Yes, thank you, Madam Brown. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Unspeakable Remus Lupin. I have a brief statement, which I think will follow nicely from Mr. Taft's point. As I am sure you understand, I cannot go into great detail. It has come to our attention that Master Potter may suffer, presently or in the future, from lingering ill effects of the attack last Saturday."

Sirius looked at Remus with some alarm, though he, of course, knew about the Dark curse trapped in Harry's scar.

Several heads swiveled to examine the toddler in Sirius' lap, who was blissfully ignorant of the attention and continued flipping pages in his book. He had poked Sirius a number of times to comment on the antics of the illustrations, but on the whole had been quite content with one word responses from his godfather.

"As you can imagine, these effects will be of the Darkest nature, and I say that in reference both the school of magic involved, and the potential for harm to Harry. That being the case, we feel it may actually be beneficial for Harry to be in close proximity to those skilled in the Dark Arts as they will be more likely to know how to react if he starts to suffer. Such people will also be least likely to be influenced by prejudice against the Dark Arts in their treatment of Harry."

"You think it likely that anyone would mistreat a child because he suffers the effects of Dark Magic?" Madam Brown inquired.

Remus sighed. "I hate to say it, but we have all—" He broke off and looked wide eyed at Harry.

The boy was still in Sirius' lap holding his book but, between giggles, he was _hissing!_ Over the various conversations and general rustling no one else would have heard it, but now everyone stilled at Remus' expression and in the sudden silence the hissing carried through the room loud and clear.

Harry looked up at Sirius with a wide smile. "Pa's! Snake sa' hi! Say hi to Snake!"

Sirius forced a smile, though he had gone almost deathly pale. "Hi, Snake," he said quietly.

Harry frowned at him and turned back to the book and resumed a halting, almost rhythmic hissing.

"Well," said Remus, with a small gulp. "I think Harry just made my point beautifully."

* * *

 _Saturday, November 7th, Northern France_

Bellatrix nearly fell over and only a desperate clutch onto a splintering bureau saved her. "Careful!" she spat.

Her husband glared over his shoulder at her as he laid his brother on the tattered and dusty bed. Rabastan's breathing was harsh and ragged. His eyes starred unseeing at the faded canopy and his hands twitched. Once upon a time it would have been a shame to see the blood stains spreading over the silk sheets and brocade coverlet, but those were long past repair now.

"Quick, get hot water and the healing kit from the kitchen!" Rodolphus ground out. He turned back and ran his wand over his brother.

Bellatrix sniffed. "Isn't there a house el—"

"Be gone!" Rodolphus growled at her.

She skittered from the room and found herself in a dim hallway. Breathing an irritated sigh she began looking for the kitchen. The old chateau was a mess! Full of rotting furniture and faded art that once would have been the marvel of Wizarding France. The Lestranges had all but abandoned it two decades ago, leaving only an aged house elf or two to keep it up. Where the creatures were now, she couldn't guess. There may have been talk of selling the house, but somehow that had never happened.

Well, at least the damn Aurors wouldn't find them here!

She took her time—serve Rudy right for shouting at her—staring about the dilapidated house, but despite the faded grandeur the chateau really wasn't all that big and she soon found the kitchen. The Black fortress in Cornwall was easily twice this size. She slumped petulantly into the kitchen and gave a heavy, put upon sigh. Her nose wrinkled at the dust. Had she ever seen a kitchen in use she would perhaps have noticed that whoever had last been here had at least cleaned up after themselves. Nothing had been left out to rot.

But she did not notice this. Nor did she notice the faint foot prints in a few of the corners, or the traces of fingers testing the depth of the dust on the counters.

It was, therefore, a complete surprise when ropes suddenly sprang around her arms and she found herself flung into a ladder back chair across the kitchen and firmly tied down. Her scream—of rage, not terror—was cut short by a _silencio_.

Four men in dashing black uniforms materialized from the shadows around the kitchen.

"Bon jour, Madam Lestrange!" one of them called cheerfully. He flung back a short velvet cap bearing a large silver badge and swept a feathered hat from a head of dark curls. Were there? Yes! Yes, there were _tassels_ , black silk _tassels_ on his knee high boots! "Enchante! I am Inspector François Delacour, Capitan of the 5th Legion of the Bureau d'Auraux. Bienvenue a Calais!"

* * *

* Bran is Welsh for 'raven,' and pronounced like brahn or brawn (rhymes with con).


	7. Lambs and Wolves

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter or anything connected with it. JKR is the Queen of Everything!

 **A/N:** This chapter wound up being rather dark. I strongly recommend having some chocolate handy.

* * *

 _Sunday, November 8_

The people of St. Targell's were not the most impressive sort. Their village was quaint, old fashioned, secretive, and not very welcoming to outsiders—despite the gorgeous turquoise waters and sheltering Cornish headlands. The old men fished in the bay; the old women repaired nets and predicted the weather; the younger men and women ran shops and various trades. All was overseen by a priest and vicar from the ancient church on the headland. But for the villagers' clothes and the electric lights through the street, any visitors would have thought they'd stumbled upon some kind of historical reproduction attraction. Until the glares of the villagers drove them off.

Keith Gloyne was trying his best to glare away the smiling man in front of him. The fool was from London, dirty English snob—befouling the pristine Cornish coast with his fancy cameras and flashy flowered shirts. This late in the year they had usually run the course of the tourist mobs, but the mild fall had brought out a few stragglers, and now the man was in his pub!

The man thrust out a fiver as Keith slid a schooner across the counter (A schooner! Pathetic Englishman couldn't even order a proper pint!). Keith grabbed the change out of the till, wishing to Merlin the man would _just go away._

Instead the man spent an hour in the corner flicking through his guidebooks and travel brochures.

Finally he stood up to leave, but just at the door he stopped and looked curiously at something in his right hand.

"Hey, uh, sorry mate," he said, coming back to the counter with a smile, "Just curious where this coin came from? Rather neat looking isn't it?"

Keith glared at the coin in the man's hand and suddenly blanched!

He quickly snatched the sickle from the man's hand and hastily riffled through the cash drawer for a 50 p. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. My mistake. It's… a… souvenir coin. Must have gotten mixed into the till somehow. Here you go."

He quickly stashed the sickle in the hidden cubby of the cash drawer.

The man was still staring at him, blinking at the silver coin in his hand. "Oh, well…er, do you remember where you got it? It was quite—"

"Nope. Don't recall. Sorry, sir. Have a nice day now!" Keith spun abruptly and charged into the back room.

He waited until he heard the door close after glares from the other townsfolk finally drove the man away before he returned to the counter.

Miles McGillis stood up and strode over, his pot belly shaking with silent laughter. "Close one, Keith. You're getting slow in your old age! You mix up the sickles and the pence again?"

Keither shot his friend a glare. "Twas your boy counted out the till last night, Miles. He must have mixed 'em up. Damn 50 p's are too close to the real thing for my comfort anyway."

"Well, no worries, mate. No harm done."

"It's getting too crowded here abouts," said old man Tom from the next table. "Too many strangers. I don't like it. Someone's bound to _notice_ something." The old man glowered.

A bell rang through the shop and all heads turned to the far back corner where a door not more than a meter and a half high swung open.

"Ah, Pinwyth. What can I do for the Master today?"

A wizened little sprite bounced around the corner and looked commandingly up at the old men. "Lord Arcturus is asking for a small keg of the 1892 dark stout."

Keith bowed to the creature. "Of course. I be getting it right away."

The creature nodded in satisfaction.

"Any news from the Masters, Master Pinwyth?" Miles asked, sipping his pint with a smile.

The elf sent him a haughty expression. "Lord Arcturus is being busy with many important matters. He is having the whole house busy preparing."

"Preparing for what?" old Tom began suspiciously. "If he doesn't mind my asking," he added obsequiously after a sharp look from the elf.

"Lord Arcturus, being a great and generous and most forgiving wizard, is preparing to welcome the Heir to Castle Donerth."

All the men in the pub straightened up. This was news indeed!

"An Heir, ye say?" said old Tom. "Who's he? Where's he been?"

Just then Keith came back with a keg as tall as the elf. "Here you go, Pinwyth. Tell the Master, I thank him for his custom." He finished with a bow.

The elf nodded in reply and vanished with the keg.

The other patrons filled Keith in on the news. An heir! The Family was quite extensive, but Lord Arcturus was the only one any of them knew personally. Oh, they knew the Steward and the Agent and the Solicitor, and a handful of other retainers. But it was always a treat when Lord Arcturus came over to the village for a day. He took time to greet them each by name and bought something from every shop.

In fact, it was mainly out of loyalty to Lord Arcturus that the villagers were so careful of outsiders. The man may be a powerful Lord far beyond their social circle, not to mention a sorcerer, but just as they were _his_ Muggles, he was _their_ wizard. And no amount of modern foolery was going to cause the people of St. Targells to disappoint him.

* * *

Scrimgeour looked the petite witch up and down and frowned at the DoM credentials. His first impressions were not favorable. Silver blond hair was piled haphazardly on her head with her wand struck through it from the side. Her sky blue robes had a rather fly away look and she stared around the Auror's office with vague and unfocused curiosity. On the whole, the word that came most emphatically to mind was "dotty."

"Er… no offense, Ms…?"

"Celestia," she said dreamily.

Scrimgeour waited awkwardly. "Just 'Celestia?'"

"Of course."

Apparently the DoM didn't use surnames. "Well, ahem, er, Ms. Celestia, I don't mind telling you I am not comfortable with this. She's a trained killer. Hostile, malicious, possibly even insane—"

"Really?" the witch seemed to focus a bit more. "Oh, that is disappointing. And here I was hoping for a challenge."

Scrimgeour shifted. "I am not comfortable letting you in there alone."

The witch smiled up at him pityingly. "My dear Auror, er, what was your name again?" He told her. "My dear Rufus, the papers are in order, you have her contained, and she doesn't even have a wand. What will she possibly do? Claw at me?"

"I wouldn't put it past her."

The witch looked thoughtful. "I will take it under advisement."

Scrimgeour sighed. "She won't tell you anything. She's resisted all our interrogation efforts so far, even Veritaserum."

Celestia chuckled. "Of course she has! But you see, I don't intend on _asking_. Now, would you please show me to the subje—er, the prisoner."."

The paperwork was flawless and he had no real grounds to object. Feeling very much like he was feeding a lamb to a wolf, Scrimgeour led her to the cell holding Bellatrix Lestrange.

* * *

Bellatrix had come down from her storming rage and was now merely simmering. Her hands were bruised and bloody from banging and scratching against the door and the walls. There were no windows or gratings, nothing to connect her with the outside world—just the sourceless light that waxed and dimmed in time with the sun. Her wandless magic had no effect on the room whatsoever.

She had spent hours pacing, ranting, raging against the Ministry, against Dumbledore, against her family, her husband, and even –she barely, _barely,_ stopped short of raging against her fellow Death Eaters. At least, she stopped short of naming them as she cursed their families, bloodlines, the day they were born, and the day they'd taken the Mark. She hated them, the lot of them. Filthy cowards! Wretched, useless, hopeless, pathetic, spineless spawns of maggots! But she was a daughter of the House of Black, and the chosen wife of the House of Lestrange. These pathetic imbeciles who dared imprison her would learn nothing. She would take their questions, their manipulations, and spit them back in their faces. She would give them _nothing!_

Her cuffs were fraying as she picked at them but she didn't notice, not even when she started actually chewing on the loose threads.

Noises outside vaguely registered in her fevered mind. Fever? Yes, she probably had one. No matter. She was strong. Her mind was a fortress. Let her be ill. Let them starve her. Let them _torture_ her. Nothing could compare with her master's Crucio. She was unassailable!

Footsteps. Voices. At the door. She heard the bolt draw back, felt the change in the wards of the room. She straightened and turned to meet her new tormentor, a sneer already plastered on her face and her mind already locked down.

Blue eyes, somewhat lower than hers, fanned with silver lashes were all she registered before a sledge hammer hit her between the eyes.

* * *

Celestia gave no introduction. The moment she locked eyes with the subject she leapt straight into her mind like a diving hawk after a rabbit.

The woman reeled, clearly losing all sense of the real world. Automatically she leaned forward, but Celestia caught her arms.

"Ah, ah. None of that, my dear," she whispered almost lovingly. With one arm she guided the subject to sit on the cot and with the other caught her chin to keep the black eyes locked with her own.

Celestia dove, fought, flew, ran, and danced through layer after layer of defenses and distractions. She'd rarely seen a mind with so many layers. Some were as solid as a brick wall; others as insubstantial as mist, but all the more distracting for the vivid images that inhabited them.

She was careful, methodical. Every layer was thoroughly explored before she ripped it away. Every so often her free hand would draw a silvery substance from the woman's mind and place it carefully in one of the crystal vials arrayed on the table in the cell. The deeper she went the more treasures she discovered and the harder the woman fought. Celestia was assaulted by images, phantoms, mazes, and monsters. She faced each obstacle with increasing equanimity. The calm surface of her own mind served as an impenetrable barrier, reflecting back every defense the woman tried to raise; a steady and unstoppable probe moving inexorably, patiently, deeper and deeper.

Finally, she came to an obsidian fortress without door or window, but with turrets and towers reaching miles into a black, swirling sky. A sky filled with flying terrors. Celestia was quite impressed. Here was the woman's inner most self, her final defense, and she had it protected by Dementors! Of all things! Few people even knew they existed, or had ever existed before Tiberius' great Purge after Grindewald fell. For this woman to have them defending her mind spoke volumes of her black character.

Celestia walked around the castle, completely ignoring the wraiths circling overhead. They dove at her, sucked at her, and she allowed them to simply pass right on through. Fear was the woman's weapon, but only Celestia could give it power.

Celestia placed a hand on the stone wall and _felt_ the fortress—every stone, every corner, turret, joint, from the deepest foundations to the tallest spire. She mentally held each molecule in her mind until she owned each and every one of them.

After a heartbeat, or perhaps a lifetime, she stepped back and with a simple wave of her hand, denied the stones permission to exist. The obsidian walls crumbled into dust.

Dimly, she recognized the anguished, paralyzed cry of the woman in the cell with her. The cry went on, and on, rising quickly to a wail and them diminishing to an ongoing whimper. Only Celestia's hand on the woman's arm held her upright.

Celestia spared no thought for that. She had seen enough murders and betrayals in the past hours to satisfy the most macabre fantasy for a lifetime. The last dust of the demolished castle blew away, along with its sinister guardians. Arrayed before her was a swamp. All minds had their own intrinsic make up, usually some sort of organic system that connected all the experiences and beliefs of the individual—everything that made them who they were.

Despite being a superb Occlumens, Bellatrix Lestrange clearly hadn't ever taken the time to tend to her own mind _as a mind_. She merely built walls and defenses around it without ever exploring or nurturing her own self. What a waste.

Being now in complete control of the poor soul, Celestia again waved her hands and the swamp transformed into a neat and impressive building. It was not a library; she couldn't simply ask for a topic and find the book with everything spelled out. But as she wandered the halls and explored the rooms each object, even the floorboards or the loops in the carpets, represented some facet of the woman's person. A memory, a thought, a relationship.

It took some time, and Celestia had more than once to conjure additional memory vials. But in the end she released her subject. As her hold on the inner recesses of the woman's mind let go, the building vanished and Celestia's last glimpse was of the swamp, now in utter ruin.

Over two dozen vials of silvery liquid were summoned, shrunken, into her pocket. The session had been most productive! It was nice to stretch her skills from time to time.

She looked down at the woman and felt the faintest stab of pity.

The woman was a monster, to be sure. She had gladly, joyfully even, tortured over a dozen people, many of them her own comrades. At least three deaths could be tied to her wand, and she was culpable in countless more to some degree. Celestia had counted over thirty Unforgivables. Add to that various counts of left, espionage, terrorism, and the less criminal but still despicable lying, cheating, manipulation, and general cruelty. The Board of Governors would be most interested to learn how _Miss Black_ had passed her Transfiguration NEWT.

And yet… the woman was now completely broken. Only well-ordered minds would withstand the kind of ravaging Celestia had wrought. The Chief Warlock would probably not bat an eyelash. But Celestia had literally _shredded_ the inner sanctum of the woman's mind and then abandoned it. Not only that, but she had pulled over two dozen memories from that inner sanctum. The impressions of the memories were still there, so the woman knew _exactly_ what information Celestia had taken, but Celestia knew the woman's mind would forever feel hollow and empty after this.

The woman didn't speak, but continued to whimper and shudder, as if she wanted to weep but had forgotten how.

Celestia supposed that was understandable as well. On top of the other damage done to her mind, the poor thing was left with the knowledge that she had just surrendered every possible iota of information that could be used to bring down every person she cared about—assuming she was capable of caring, which Celestia somewhat doubted. Celestia was particularly interested in the revelations about a certain cup in her vault and the many, _many_ , revelations regarding Lucius Malfoy. Though it was clear the woman wasn't particularly fond of any one (except perhaps the Dark Lord himself), she had fought particularly hard to protect memories of her brother-in-law.

All in vain.

Well. Celestia needed to get these vials to Carmichael. She turned her back on the broken figure and swept from the room without a backward glance.

At the door she handed half a dozen vials to the astonished looking Auror. "You may find these most useful. I may send some of these others to you once their contents are properly examined. I'm afraid your prisoner may require assistance from a permanent spell damage expert. Good day!"

* * *

Ashes…

Dust…

Ruin…

Pain. Unbearable pain!

Pain that started deep in her chest, in her head, and wove, stabbing through not just her body but her very soul.

All was ashes and dust! All was in ruin. There was nothing left.

No matter what she did to collect herself—literally, to collect her very self—Bellatrix was confronted by faces. Condemning faces contorted in scorn and outrage and the deepest disappointment.

She had betrayed them all. She had failed. Failed to protect them! Now the Ministry had everything. _Everything!_

There was nothing left. She had nothing. Was nothing.

Only pain…

Pain and ashes…

Ashes and dust…

* * *

Scrimgeour stared at the broken figure of Bellatrix Lestrange. She lay on the cot just as they had placed her, staring at the ceiling, eyes occasionally roving wildly. Her lips moved ceaselessly but no sound came from them. Her hands twitched, plucking at the cot, her robes, her nails, the cot, the robes, her nails, the cot… Sometimes her whole body would shudder and tears leaked from her staring eyes down her temples.

They had tried talking to her but she gave no answer. Sometimes she flinched when they touched her, but other times she ignored them completely.

Scrimgeour glanced down at the warden's report.

He recalled his fear from that morning—ten _hours earlier—_ about feeding a lamb to a wolf. Apparently, he'd been wrong.

He hadn't led the lamb to the wolf. He'd taken the wolf to the lamb.

* * *

Unlike his wife, Rodolphus did not pace his cell or rage against his captors. He sat quietly, already having given up. He would have followed the Dark Lord to the bitter end. Well, the end had come and it was bitter indeed. He presumed that somewhere in this wretched dungeon of holding cells his wife was throwing herself at the walls. He was actually grateful for the sound proofing wards.

He sat up as the door opened.

It took him a moment to recognize the towering figure that entered the cell and sat sedately in the chair across from him. When he did he felt the blood drain from his face.

"I see you recognize me." The man's voice was so deep it seemed to come from the very stones.

Rodolphus merely nodded.

"Then perhaps you know why I am here?"

Rodolphus felt the sweat break out on his neck. He swallowed heavily. "I don't know much," his voice sounded pathetic even to his own ears. Shaking! He was shaking! "The Dark Lord kept things very close."

The man nodded. "But you will tell me what you know."

It was not a question.

Rodolphus swallowed again, and nodded in return. "Everything. Only…." He was relieved to see the man raise an eye brow. Perhaps there was some feeling in the giant. "My brother."

The man nodded once again. "He will survive. We will see to it. After that, it's up to the MLE."

Of course. Even the Department of Mysteries couldn't erase all their crimes. "Thank you."

The man held out a scroll. It was too early for a confession: they didn't even know what crimes to have him confess too. Instead, the parchment—no vellum, Goblin made—gave the Department of Mysteries full access to any and all artefacts in the Lestrange Family Vault. Rodolphus swallowed again. Clearly they already knew more than he could tell them if they knew about the vault. His list of bargaining chips, never very long, was growing thin indeed.

Rodolphus held out a finger and the man tapped it with his wand, bringing forth a drop of blood. Rodolphus swiftly pressed it to the bottom of the scroll. He glanced up as the man took the scroll and strode to the door.

He'd once had a different name, this legendary figure who'd invented spells and strategies used by Grindewald. Few, very few, would connect the calm, stern Tiberius with that mythic sorcerer.

Tiberius spoke a few words through a crack in the door and a few minutes later one of the Aurors brought the man a glimmering black Pensieve. Tiberius set it on the table and resumed his seat. He handed Rodolphus a wand. With the first touch Rodolphus could tell the wand was so heavily restricted he'd have trouble casting even a _Lumos_ with it. But it would suffice to pull memories into the Pensieve.

"When you are ready."

A few hours later Tiberius sealed and shrunk the pensive, as well as the ever-extending-scroll of parchment he'd used for his copious notes, and rose to leave. Rodolphus' throat was raw with answering the man's questions. Tiberius stopped at the door and looked back with something akin to pity in his eyes.

"I should tell you that one of my colleagues visited your wife today. It did not end well for her."

Rodolphus frowned briefly, wondering if this was yet another crime to be laid at his wife's feet. But reading the man's face he understood. "Is she alive?"

Tiberius nodded. "She lives, but there is more hope for your brother than for her, I fear."

Rodolphus nodded slowly and turned to the wall, waving away the man away. It was little less than they deserved. And more than he expected.

* * *

Da's deep voice was shouting. The voice was upset, afraid! That deep voice was never afraid. It always laughed, was always happy. Now it made Harry afraid too.

He was jerked off the floor suddenly. Mummy was never rough with him! She never kicked his toys either, but he saw them skitter across the floor. She always made him feel safe, but now he was more afraid than before. Something was very wrong!

Mummy ran up the stairs and he saw the bright lights flashing behind them. Da appeared but suddenly fell down after a bright green flash and the deep voice wasn't there anymore.

Da sometimes played games with Harry about being very still but he knew this wasn't a game. Then he heard the _other_ voice. The _mean_ voice.

The mean voice followed them. It had red eyes; Harry didn't like them. It was shouting at Mummy! Mummy was shouting back and Harry knew she was afraid too. Harry cried but no one noticed!

There was another green light and Harry fell to the floor. It hurt! Mummy had fallen over too! He squirmed around but she wouldn't hold him. Why? Why wouldn't she hold him? He was scared!

The mean voice was saying things again, and there was another green light…

A different deep voice broke though the nightmare, startling but familiar. "Ssssssssh! Shhhh, pup. Hush. It's alright. I'm right here, pup. I've got you. It's alright."

Harry realized he was crying, but large hands were holding him tight, rocking gently. Da was gone. Mummy was gone. Pads had told him the mean man had taken them away. Pads used to be happy too. He used to always be fun, but now he was sometimes serious and sad. Everything was wrong! It wasn't alright. It couldn't be right. He wanted Da! He hiccupped and started crying afresh.

"I know, pup," Pads spoke quietly, but his voice reverberated through the barrel chest straight into Harry. It was soothing, but also painful because it wasn't Da. "I miss them too, pup. But we've got each other now. We'll be okay, you'll see."

Harry buried his head in the soft fabric of Pads' shirt and kept right on crying.

Sirius cradled the small boy, rocking back and forth on the small bed and gently massaging Harry's head. He could guess what had Harry upset and was almost glad he was too young to talk about it. Sirius wasn't sure he would be able to hold it together in that case. The last week had been something of a blur. Much of it had been empty time, just him and Harry hanging around the flat, with brief flurries of activity with the Ministry getting things settled. It was fairly easy during those times to focus on moving forward, just getting things done.

But at night…

At night everything stilled and all the distractions drifted away leaving behind two enormous holes that could never be filled. For either of them.

Harry's nightmares weren't at all unusual after such a horrific event. But Sirius knew, though Harry couldn't tell him, that the worst part of every nightmare was waking up and rediscovering that it was him, Sirius, and not James holding him.

Here in the nursery, holding his best friend's son, Sirius felt with aching clarity just how much they had lost barely a week ago. Barely a week, and life would never be the same. All his reassuring susurrations slowly dissolved until, without realizing it, Sirius himself was weeping. His tears streamed down to mingle with the unruly black hair as he held the boy to his chest like a life line.

Long into the night the two black haired boys held each other. At last, exhausted from grief, they fell slowly back against the pillows of the small bed, fast asleep.

* * *

 **A/N:** *hands out tissues* Took a long time to write that last scene! Chocolate for everyone.

World note: Dementors are not being used to guard Azkaban, because allowing those things to exist is horrific and, IMHO, idiotic. They do exist, because you can't ever completely wipe out sadness and depression and horror, but they are treated very much like Lethifolds and acromantula (at least how everyone but Hagrid treats acromantula): kill on sight type of thing. I try not to drag pacing down with too much description that isn't immediately relevant, but this is one tidbit I really wanted to share.


	8. Willingly Given

**Disclaimer:** JKR owns everything.

 **A/N:** Things are going to start getting very different from canon. Hopefully we won't have such long breaks between chapters again. We'll see!

* * *

 **WIZARDING WORLD TURNS OUT TO HONOR FALLEN HERO**

 _ **The Daily Prophet, Monday, November 9**_

 _Wizarding Britain turned out in droves on Saturday to pay homage to a remarkable woman who gave her life to protect her infant son and, in the process, defeated the greatest evil of our generation._

 _Lily Potter was awarded, posthumously, the Order of Merlin First Class for the defeat of the terrorist Tom Riddle, styling himself "Lord Voldemort." James Potter was also awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class for uncommon bravery, although he did not survive his fourth direct encounter with Riddle. The ceremony was held at Leiopold Gardens in London, presided over by Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump Albus Dumbledore. Delegates from six countries of the International Confederation of Wizards were in attendance, in addition to the entire staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the entire Auror Department. Prominent among the other guests were known members of the legendary Order of the Phoenix: Arthur Weasley, Daedalus Diggle, Remus J Lupin, Rubeus Hagrid, and Elphias Dodge._

 _The esteemed Hogwarts Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, opened the ceremony with a stirring testimonial to the magical brilliance and warm character of Lily Rose Potter. "She brought joy wherever she went and gave her friendship freely, even to those some might consider undeserving."_

 _Before the ceremony a small disturbance had to be dissipated by the MLE. Some were surprised, to say the least, at the attendance of many suspected supporters of Riddle, among them the Malfoy family and various members of the Black family, who have often spoken out in favor of blood purity—a belief the Potters openly disparaged. Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy defended their attendance. "I too am a mother, and hope I would have given as much."_

 _To the surprise of many, the Potters' son, Harry, at one time believe to also have perished in the ill-fated attack, attended in the guardianship of James' longtime friend, Sirius Black. Black is Harry's godfather and recently re-instated heir apparent of the Black family fortune, the size of which is now estimated to include…_

* * *

"So this is a Horcrux?" Carmichael asked. The small cup sat on the table so innocently. Other than the Hufflepuff crest it was almost plain, despite being cast of gold.

But the cup was definitely not innocent.

If the strained frowns of the normally jovial group around the table weren't enough indication, he could feel the dark aura himself. His skin itched. His muscles twitched as if he'd had two _pots_ of coffee and not just a cup and a half. He was irritable and felt like snapping at someone, anyone. His magic was snarling back at the relic like a disgruntled cat.

Tiberius nodded, scowling.

"So what do we do with it?"

"Destroy it," Lupin said. The man's voice was thick and harsh, his eyes almost feral. Well, the full moon was only a few days away now.

"Do we know how?"

Several suggestions were tossed out; fiendfyre was a popular choice

"Any options that _don't_ destroy one of the most precious heirlooms of Wizarding Britain?" Celestia asked.

Meaghana shook her head. "None that I can think of."

Tiberius was the most collected of them and stood stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Another question. Will destroying the artifact destroy the soul or release it?"

Carmichael raised a brow. "Interesting question. Obviously we don't want a piece of Riddle's soul wandering around."

"We already have one of those," Lupin muttered.

The group turned to him. "Well," he continued, testily, "now that we know he has a Horcrux, or more than one, shouldn't we assume that whatever bit of him attacked the Potters, is still out there? What exactly does a Horcrux _do?"_

"Another interesting question," Carmichael said. "Jayden, you're the expert on the soul. Enlighten us."

Jayden stared at the cup for several long moments, then picked it up and held it in his hands, closing his eyes. They waited.

Finally, he set the cup down and opened his eyes. "The Horcrux is not conscious. I believe destruction of the object will also destroy the fragment of soul that it protects. When the spells binding this piece of soul to the cup are destroyed, that piece cannot remain in the world. The soul within is not powerful enough for possession or regeneration. It anchors the primary consciousness to this world, but nothing more."

Meaghana took the cup and held up closely before her eyes, squinting as if she could read something on its surface.

Tiberius hummed. "But you are saying that the primary consciousness could regenerate?"

Jayden nodded. "So long as a single Horcrux exists, anytime the primary consciousness 'dies' it will merely return to its current state of being, most likely a wraith of some kind, and could be reborn again."

"What do we know about this regeneration?" Carmichael asked.

Jayden frowned. "To my knowledge it's never been done. Until a few days ago Horcruxes were theoretical. I'll do some digging but...no one's exactly published a manual on Horcruxes."

Carmichael nodded. "In the meantime… Celestia, you said there is indication that this is not Riddle's only Horcrux?"

She nodded. "Based on Dumbledore's memories of Riddle and what we collected from the Lestrange woman, he certainly made more than one. We are looking for more clues as to what and where they might be."

"Excellent. Any reason to keep this one around?"

One by one they each shook their heads.

"Who wants to do the honors?"

"I do," growled Lupin. His eyes practically glowed.

Carmichael refrained from raising a brow but decided to double check when the next full moon was. He gestured for Lupin to take the cup. The man snatched it greedily. With a wave of his wand part of the wall was transfigured into a fireplace. The cup had barely clattered to the stone before raging purple fire consumed it.

The horrendous screech caused some to raise their brows but no one flinched. Finally the flames died away leaving a black, greasy smear in the fireplace.

Lupin marched from the room without a glance at any of them.

* * *

Remus braced his hands against the table and stretched his back, breathing deep and slow. He didn't look up until Carmichael thumped a massive mug by his right hand.

"Want to tell me what that was about?"

Remus shook the snarl from his face and straightened.

"Aaaagh," he breathed, running his hands over his forehead and through his hair. He could still feel the twisted _wrongness_ of the Horcrux in his system, despite knowing it was destroyed. "I don't know if this will make any sense to someone who isn't…who's never…," he stopped with a sigh and began again. "You know some animals are natural enemies? Doesn't matter the circumstances, they will _always_ attack each other on sight?"

Carmichael shrugged. "Sure I guess. Like dogs and cats—"

"More like a mongoose and a cobra," Remus corrected. "The mongoose always goes for the kill. The Wolf has a lot of enemies. So many things set it off: creatures, spells, places, peoples, and anything remotely connected to silver. Reining in the wolf…some of my kind don't fight it. Some do but without much success. I've spent my _whole life_ learning, working with it. Control isn't the best word as that implies a contest. We aren't really partners either. We have… a system. A symbiosis of sorts."

He took a deep breath.

"It's never reacted like that to anything. _Ever_. I could feel that thing as soon as I walked in this morning. As soon as I saw it…I've never felt the Wolf so angry."

Carmichael nodded. "That reaction could be helpful in tracking down the others."

Remus merely nodded. "True. Sorry for the strop."

Carmichael waved away his apology. "It affected all of us, Lupin. I haven't felt that twitchy in years. We'll get them all, don't worry."

He turned to leave.

"There's one other thing," Remus called. Carmichael turned back. "It smelled familiar."

* * *

Ignatius peered out the window of the second best drawing room in Malfoy Manor. He'd been somewhat amused when the elf had led him here. He could have introduced himself more completely, but he rather liked having the element of surprise to work with.

 _Albino peacocks,_ he noted. _Lucius always was a ponce._

After nearly half an hour his host sauntered into the room, offering insincere apologies about the "unavoidable delay."

"Not to worry," said Ignatius. "I can make all the time I need." Of course, he meant it far more literally than most people. Lucius didn't seem to notice.

Lucius waved him to a chair and settled himself in a facing one while the elf poured them tea.

"Now what can I do for the ministry?" Lucius said pleasantly.

"I'd say you are in a position to do quite a bit for us—Thank you, Dobby." Ignatius noted Lucius' small start of surprise that he knew the elf by name. The elf merely blinked at him then hurriedly left the room. Ignatius stirred his cup with deliberate slowness then took a delicate sip. "Mmm. Excellent blend."

Ah, good. Lucius was paying closer attention now. Ignatius slowly set the cup aside. He leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms and tapping his fingers together, and fixed the blond man with a piercing look.

"I am here about a book—a diary to be exact. And my difficulty in acquiring it will determine just how much you will do for the Ministry."

Lucius blinked at him for a moment. "A diary? Am I supposed to be amused?"

Ignatius laughed. "Oh, come now, Lucius! Let's put all the cards on the table, shall we? You can't play your way out of this one. I have the mother of all aces in my sleeve and you're a full pair short of a house. I—"

"I'm sorry," Lucius interrupted tersely. "Are you operating under the delusion that we know each other? How dare you speak to me this way!"

Ignatius chuckled again. "Ah, but we do know each other, Lucius. We are cousins in fact. Well, twice removed and via two marriages. I gave a toast at your wedding, though since then my research has prevented me from frequenting family holidays."

He could practically see Lucius tracing the family tree in his mind. Finally he seemed to light on a name. "Ignatius Prewett?!"

"The same."

Lucius harrumphed. "I thought you were dead."

"Sorry to disappoint." Ignatius raised his teacup to his host. "Now, back to business. I am here for Riddle's diary."

Lucius frowned. "'Riddle's—. You mean, the Dark Lord?"

"Of course, boy. Keep up. You have it; I need it."

The pale frown deepened. "The Dark Lord never kept a diary, sorry to disappoi—"

"No," Ignatius cut him off. "Don't evade me. Don't even try. I _know_ about the diary, Lucius. I've seen it. In fact, I saw the Dark Lord hand it to you with instructions that you protect it with your life, that it was his most prized possession. An old, battered, muggle journal…"

Lucius's eyes widened. "That—how can you possibly—"

"Remember, Lucius, who I am. I know a great deal more than anyone supposes. Except perhaps Dumbledore. In this instance I know a good bit more than old Crouch."

Ah, now we were getting somewhere. The aristocratic chin tilted up in interest.

"What exactly are you implying? How did you come by this information?"

"One of my people paid your dear sister-in-law a visit yesterday. She—my agent, you understand—is the most gifted Legilimens the Department has ever encountered, and I mean _ever_. Possibly the most gifted in the world—excepting Dumbledore, naturally. One can never account for Dumbledore. She is certainly far more powerful than your dark lord ever conceived of. Mrs. Lestrange fought very hard, but I'm sad to say that only made the damage worse. My agent collected every scrap of memory relating to your old master and his activities that ever resided in that poor woman's head."

Lucius sniffed. "Bella would never—"

" _Bella,_ " Ignatius persisted, "will spend the remainder of her days in Saint Mungos High Security Ward, and if she ever recovers enough mental acuity to pour her own cup of tea I shall be very much surprised. She gave us everything, Malfoy. Absolutely everything. We—that is, my agent and I—know all about Luxor, Lucius. And Torchwood. I know about the oubliettes, the special orders from Banbridge, and your little trip to Oxcomb. I know how Avery got his scar, why Severus Snape is a pathetic bastard, who killed my nephew Regulus, and which Death Eaters Riddle trusted certain artifacts to. I have watched the memories with my own eyes."

He paused to take another sip of tea and let that sink in. Lucius was so very pale and still he could have been a marble statue. Ignatius noted with some satisfaction that he had never seen the man less collected, not to mention scared.

Lucius spoke quietly. "You said that Crouch doesn't know…"

"I passed on a few minor tidbits to Crouch to keep him occupied. There will be a fairly clean sweep of Riddle's lower orders. But I am saving a few precious bits for myself. At the moment that includes everything relating to you. Well, almost everything."

Lucius sneered, but there wasn't much heart in it. "Almost?"

"Yes. Firstly, because it is my duty to assist the MLE and I can't justify leaving them _entirely_ in the dark. Secondly, as I said, I needed Crouch occupied and off my back. Thirdly, as leverage. If you do not provide me with the diary, Crouch will be investigating certain financial anomalies that will inevitably lead to, at best, a minor charge of abetting a terrorist. At worst, that investigation could lead him straight to Oxcomb and beyond.

"Now, here is my proposal."

He stopped to take a sip of tea.

"If you give me the diary today I will broker a deal with Crouch on your behalf. He gets the information I have—nearly all of it, plus any info you choose to add—and by 'choose' I mean everything you can possibly think of relating to Riddle. In return, Crouch will slap you with a fine in lieu of trial and the inevitable stint in Azkaban. A hefty fine, to be sure, you may have to sell one or two properties, but nothing to threaten your solvency."

He left it at that for some time, completely finishing his tea while Lucius thought. The younger man flushed and paled by turns.

"If I don't give you this diary, Crouch comes after me." Lucius stated.

Ignatius nodded. "And nothing could possibly save you in that event. He will take everything. Every coin, every brick you own, and send you to prison leaving your wife and son barely more than destitute. Your name will be in utter ruin forever."

"Yes, thank you. I hadn't quite worked all that out," Lucius snarled.

Ignatius smiled pleasantly. Pulling a silver flask from his inside his robes, Lucius poured a generous helping of whiskey into his tea. Ignatius noted that there seemed to be some truth to the rumors regarding Lord Malfoy's relationship with liquor.

Lucius stood and tossed back the tea.

"Why help me at all? Isn't your offer obstruction of justice or something equally idiotic?" he asked scornfully as he paced.

Ignatius shrugged. "Perhaps. You see, I would rather get the diary with as little fuss as possible. I would get it from Crouch eventually if I let him take you lock, stock, and barrel, but I don't want that diary caught up in legal falderal. I need it in my hands today. I am also trying to avoid a riot.

"I have no truck with Riddle or any of his blood purity nonsense; but I am loath to see a great family destroyed as utterly as you would be. Your trial would throw fuel on a very dangerous fire, Malfoy. As much as you personally might deserve it, and I know you do, dragging things out will not help anyone. Our people need to get back to their lives. They need stability, normalcy. Seeing your name smeared across the papers could be the match that sets the whole mob of rabble aflame to tear down every old authority there is."

Ignatius stood and poured himself another cup of tea. He drank then sent Lucius a serious gaze. "I give the Ministry my full support. I must, as I am a part of it. But families like ours—old families—carry history and traditions, culture, that cannot be allowed to die. We carry the banner for what it means to have magic. As a great man once said, 'tradition is the democracy of the dead,' and we are the anchors of that tradition. I hope we always have new magical blood coming in—muggleborns. But I also hope we always respect the old ways.

"Perhaps I am wrong to give you this chance. Perhaps it is a gross miscarriage of justice that I have no right to meddle with. But the cards are in my hand and I will play them as I see fit. I see a better outcome for the future of our people with the diary in my possession and you dealt with quietly. Though I do hope you will make a better run this time around. I admit I have trapped you rather neatly, but I can't afford to leave loopholes."

He drained cup and set it on the tray. "Now then. Enough emotional nonsense. Where is the diary?"

Lucius regarded him for a moment. Coming to a decision, he snapped him fingers to summon the house elf. The creature appeared with a pop, already bowing his nose to the carpet.

"Dobby," Lucius sneered, "where is your Mistress?"

"Mistress Malfoy is being in her studio, Master Malfoy."

"See that she stays there and does not approach a window for the next half an hour," Lucius snapped.

Dobby's eyes bulged but his master paid no mind. Ignatius wondered exactly how the elf was supposed to accomplish that, but Lucius waved for him to follow.

Lucius led him through the house. They went down one of the old servants' staircases and a short ways down a hallway until they came to a small back door. Lucius knelt in the dusty floor and picked at the mortar between the stones until a small slip of silver slid into his hands. He then swiftly opened the door and led Ignatius out of the house.

They immediately climbed a short, stone stair out of the rustic and up into a shabby yard enclosed by crumbling brick walls from an earlier era. The yard was filled with piles of old crates, barrels, tools, various types of earth for the gardens, and other odds and ends.

A small wood shielded the yard from the view of the estate on all sides. Lucius led him through the wood and then across a lawn of long grass to a marble Grecian temple, the kind that started popping up in English country estates in the late 18th century. Crossing behind the temple he raised the slip of silver to his lips. It was a whistle!

Ignatius heard nothing, but after a few moments a white peahen came picking her way from the topiary garden and across the lawn. She didn't seem to be in a particular hurry.

When she reached them Lucius stroked her almost lovingly, cooing and clucking back at her. She preened under the attention. After a while she hopped up two of the temple steps. There she waited for Lucius to continue his ministrations. Lucius was using no words or spells, but the bird seemed to be listening and considering. Finally, she twisted her head around, plucked a feather from under her wing, and gracefully placed it on the step at her feet. The feather sank into the marble and a two foot arc of the steps dissolved, startling the peahen and revealing a cramped staircase leading down under the temple. She squawked and flapped the grass beside them. Lucius gave her a few final pats, lingering until she lost interest and started pecking at the ground. He then he led the way down the dim stairwell.

"Interesting opening spell," Ignatius commented.

Lucius grunted. "The feather must be willingly given and placed on the steps by its owner. Naturally, I'm the only person they will give one to."

"Naturally."

Pale blue light sprang from both wizards' wands as they came to the chamber underneath the temple. It was lined with ancient cabinets, draped in cobwebs and layers of dust. Though the cabinets were glass-fronted, the glass was frosted and marbled, hiding the contents.

Lucius looked towards the nearest cabinet then straightened and sent a sidelong look at his companion.

"If I killed you down here no one would ever find you," he said evenly.

Ignatius shrugged. "If you managed to kill me, which is quite a large bet. But then you would have Crouch to deal with and no bargaining power or allies."

A sniff was all his reply. Lucius stalked over to one of the cabinets. He stared at the old wood for a long minute without moving. "What's so special about this diary? You know it's blank. There's nothing written in it."

Ignatius chuckled. "Tried to pry into your master's secrets, eh? Not that I blame you. It's a Horcrux."

A sudden, deep silence dropped over them as Lucius' eyes widened. Time seemed to slow as Ignatius watched the man's breathing nearly stop.

"A—a _Horcrux?!_ A Horcrux—for the Dark Lord?"

"No, for Albus Dumbledore." Ignatius replied smoothly. When Lucius seemed to be honestly considering that information Ignatius lost patience. "Of course for Riddle!"

He could see Lucius hesitating, considering. His breathing became heavy and his knuckles were turning white as they gripped his wand.

"This changes nothing, Lucius," he said coldly.

"Doesn't it?" Lucius hissed. "This changes _everything!_ Give me a moment _._ " He thrust a pale hand into his hair and turned away from Ignatius.

"My offer hasn't changed," Ignatius readied his wand. "Either you give me the diary, or I give you to Crouch."

Lucius pivoted on his heels back and forth.

"Bella was right. Oh, Merlin! Of course he isn't dead! How could he be dead? I should have been looking. He's going to come back. By Morgana! He'll kill me! He'll kill us all!"

"Pull yourself together!" Ignatius yelled. But it was no good.

Lucius was nearly frantic now. He pulled out the flask again and took two large gulps and continued pacing. He wand hand shook and tapped nervously at his thigh.

"A horcrux. Why couldn't I see? But how—"

Suddenly, he stopped facing a cabinet opposite the one he'd been looking at earlier. Ice blue eyes stared through the wall into a memory far away. His gaze slowly turned to the white feather, lying where he'd dropped it earlier.

"Willingly given…Flesh of the servant," he whispered. "Willingly given. Bone of the father. Blood of the enemy."

"What?" asked Ignatius, stepping closer. "What is that? 'Bone of the father?' Lucius!"

But he was unresponsive, staring at the feather on the floor. Finally, Ignatius hit him with a stinging hex.

"Aaah! What the—?!" Lucius looked at him, startled, but no longer raving.

"Pull yourself together, boy! What were you saying just now? What was that? Bone of the father or some such thing?"

Lucius stared at him. "Nothing," he replied sullenly.

Ignatius blinked and the distance between them was closed instantly and his wand was pressed to Lucius neck, tipping his jaw back.

"Our deal just changed, boy," Ignatius growled. "You will tell me everything you know even remotely connected to this diary, horcruxes, and that phrase. You tell me right here, right now, and in return I let you walk out of here and don't leave your corpse to rot with your dark treasures for all eternity. That is if I don't set fiendfyre to the whole damn place."

Lucius swallowed. Though he was taller than Ignatius, and easily thirty years younger, this was clearly not a fight he stood a chance of winning. With the wand under his jaw he couldn't meet Ignatius' eyes but the older man could see the fear in them.

"If he ever finds out, he'll kill me."

"He'll kill you anyway. You're a bloody coward, Malfoy. And now that I've blown your cover, you're useless to him. So, either you give me what I need to destroy him forever or I destroy you, right here, right now."

Lucius swallowed again. "It's…just a something I heard him saying once, a few times maybe. Always low, under his breath, when he thought we weren't listening. A rhyme or something. I thought—I didn't think anything of it, except it gave me the idea for the feather."

He swallowed and hesitated. Ignatius twisted the wand slightly. "Go on."

"He said, 'Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son. Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.' That's it. That's all he ever said. It's—it's probably nothing," he finished lamely.

"We'll see." Ignatius snapped his fingers and a crystal vial appeared in his hand. "Every memory connected to that phrase."

Lucius started to shake his head but the wand dug deeper. "You want to live? Help me destroy him! Give me the memories."

Slowly, Lucius raised his wand and pulled the silver wisps from his temple. It took rather a while.

"That's all of them," Lucius croaked. Ignatius slowly put the vial inside his robes, eased the pressure of his wand and stepped back. With a heavy sigh, Lucius rolled his neck. "And a few extras for good measure."

"About?" Ignatius asked. He kept his want trained on Lucius.

"The diary. Regulus. Severus. The Prophecy. The Traitor."

Ignatius nodded. Suddenly a pale hand snapped forward and grabbed the wrist on his wand hand. Ignatius roared and tried to shake it off but Lucius had found the speed and strength of his younger years and very quickly they had grappled to a stalemate.

"What are you doing, Lucius?!"

With a yell Lucius heaved them sideways, careening into a cabinet. "Promise me one thing, old man." They bounced off the cabinet, rolling to the ground until they came to rest each with his wand at the other's temple. "I won't let you go till you promise. Unbreakable Vow. I've given you everything. Everything! If you fail and he comes back, you must protect my family. He'll come for them, even if I'm dead. You don't have the diary yet, and you can't get it without me, that I promise you. So either you vow to protect them, at least one of us dies today."

"Oh for goodness sakes!" Ignatius roared. With a flash they were blasted apart. Well, Lucius was blasted away from Ignatius, but Ignatius simply blinked and reappeared standing a few feet away dusting off his robes. "Don't be such a child, Lucius. Unbreakable Vow, indeed."

To his surprise the pale man let out a sob. Ignatius sighed. "Lucius. Look at me, boy."

Slowly the pale face turned to face him.

"I know you are in an impossible situation. You are damned either way, by me or by Riddle. I know it is mortifying. I know it's unthinkable. It's painful and terrifying. But think, man! If I'm willing to bend the law to keep you out of prison do you really think I'd just let Riddle waltz back to claim vengeance on you? Especially as the entire point of this exercise is so that I can _stop_ him from returning! Of course I will protect you. Your whole family, Lucius, not just Narcissa and Draco. I will not do anything so rash as take the Unbreakable Vow, but I do give you my word of honor."

He watched the man slowly relax. "Now," he sighed tiredly. "Can we please get on with this? Where is the diary?"

Slowly Lucius straightened and brushed his hands at the dust covering his clothes. Turning to a cabinet he spit into his hand and then placed the palm on the handle. A wave a light swept over the cabinet, clearing away dust and cobwebs and leaving the glass crystal clear. Ignatius could see a number of things in the cabinet, nearly all of which could get Lucius arrested.

Stepping closer Ignatius could see small name plates next to each declaring which Malfoy predecessor had collected each piece and when.

"Quite the collection," he commented.

Lucius merely nodded. He brushed aside several artifacts and then traced a rune on the shelf. Nothing happened. Closing the cabinet he walked across the room to another one and repeated the procedure, this time with a different rune. Six times in all he opened a cabinet and traced a specific rune, in a specific place until finally a small click was heard. Then Lucius knelt in the center of the small room and pried up a piece of the stone flooring. From the tiny cavity below he pulled the battered diary.

"Quite an elaborate scheme," Ignatius said. "I am impressed."

Lucius' lips twitched. "If the man you feared the most told you to protect something with your life would you take any chances?"

"I'm glad to hear you call him a man. That is all he is, Lucius. That's all he ever was."

Slowly Lucius held out the diary and Ignatius took it.

"Thank you, Lucius. I am incredibly grateful. I will do what I can to shield you from Crouch. You have my word."

Ignatius turned to leave.

"And the dark l—and Riddle?" Lucius croaked after him.

Ignatius turned at the bottom stair. "He will never return, Lucius. I will see to it. The diary will be destroyed. It may be able to tell us more than you think." He made to leave again but paused. "I should think twice before making use of any of these artifacts, Lucius. After today, I have seen them all, or nearly so, and I shall make a list. If any are used, the MLE just might receive an anonymous tip…"

Lucius straightened, vanishing most of the dust from his clothes with a wave of his wand. He seemed much more collected—still shaken, but more his usual self.

"They would never find the proof."

"Oh, I don't know. I can be very resourceful when motivated."

Ignatius tapped his DoM badge and portkeyed past the impressive Malfoy wards straight to his office. Carmichael was waiting for him. Ignatius tossed the diary to him. "See what you can make of that. Tell Jayden to be extremely cautious. I sense it is more even than we thought it'd be. And send Tiberius in here!"

Without waiting for Carmichael to respond he whipped out his wand and summoned a glowing silvery mink. "Get me Dumbledore."


	9. Bone of the Father

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter or anything connected with it. JKR is the Queen of Everything!

* * *

 _The same day_

Dumbledore rose from his seat. The Wizengamot and the packed public gallery rose as well. He felt every eye on him, but that weight was nothing compared to the stone in his chest. The loss of James and Lily was proving especially difficult to bear. His eyes, unlike those of the rest of Courtroom 10, rested on the miserable figure in the center of the room.

"Peter Pettigrew," he intoned. To his great surprise, the name gave rise to an emotion Dumbledore had never entertained before: hatred. Oh, he was familiar with anger, disappointment, even betrayal. Hatred was something he had never expected to encounter in himself. He swallowed heavily and forced the feeling down. The man was a representative of all things Dumbledore abhorred, but justice must not be marred by vindictiveness.

The silence of the room was broken only by the faint clinking of the chains as the prisoner trembled.

"You have been found guilty of Conspiring to Commit the Murders of James Fleamont Potter, Lily Rose Potter, and Harry James Potter," Dumbledore continued, "Accessory to the Murders of the aforementioned James and Lily Potter, Aiding and Abetting a Known Terrorist, Espionage, Proditio et Fidelium—betrayal of a Fidelius Charm—and High Treason against the Ministry of Magic and against the Crown."

Not a soul was surprised, not even the prisoner, but each word seemed to hit the man like a blow. He had curled in on himself as far as the chair would allow. Whimpering and muttering rose from the chair to echo in the silence.

For the first time in his long years, the sight of a broken man did not fill the Chief Warlock with pity, but with revulsion. Never had Dumbledore for a moment considered resurrecting the Arch of Execution, and he had fought long and hard to rid their society of the Dementors. He was ashamed, looking at the pathetic figure before him, that a small part of him now wished for their return.

"For your sentence, you have a choice." He paused until the man unfolded slightly and stopped muttering. Murmurs spread through the public audience. "You may accept a life sentence in Azkaban. You will be confined to Level 6, on high security, with no chance of parole, for the remainder of your days."

That was the expected sentence. The next would come as a surprise.

"The Wizengamot has agreed to offer you another choice: exile."

The man finally looked up and met his eyes. Dumbledore continued.

"As a rat."

* * *

Sirius stood at the gate, staring at the Burrow, hardly feeling the rain. As much as he hated the man who had betrayed James and Lily, it was still hard to wrap his head around that man being Pettigrew. He had always been… well, rather like a pet. Not the person they'd go to for a good idea but still a reliable, pleasant sort of presence. That sense hadn't died yet. Part of Sirius actually wanted that small bit of comfort, to know that no matter how bad things were, at least this one person would always look up to you. If all else failed, juggle an inkpot or two for Peter and you'd get a laugh, which was better than a poke in the eye. He tried to bury that feeling under the raging hatred and betrayal, but trying to reconcile the Peter that he knew with the pathetic man who had caused such evil…

Sirius wasn't sure he had the brainpower to reconcile those. Just now, he didn't care to try. He had Harry to worry about. He shook the rain out of his hair and pushed through the gate.

The back door swung open into a small scullery under his knock, but the opposite doorway was blocked by two red-haired toddlers. Identical red-haired toddlers.

"Victoweee!" one of them cried. "Fweedom!" said the other, and they raced towards him and the open door!

Sirius scooped them up midstride and kicked the door closed as he sauntered through the scullery. "Ah, no, not today, lads! I've got enough to deal with without your mother on my case about letting you two loose on the neighborhood."

They kicked and squirmed.

"No no no!"

"Awww, but Unkew Siwius!"

"Twaitor! Twaitor!"

"You don't want to see us wocked up?"

Suddenly one of them stopped kicking and leaned back to look him in the eye. "Unkew Siwius, wanna get some ta'poles and put 'em in Pe'cy's tea?"

His twin cooed in awe at this fabulous idea.

"It's November, kid. No tadpoles in November."

The two looked at each other to silently discuss this tragic development.

Molly bustled around a corner into the kitchen just as Sirius was passing the massive wooden table.

"Oooh!" she cried. "Sirius—and YOU TWO!" She angled a fierce glare at the two boys. "One timeout isn't enough, I see. Sirius, chuck them in the den with the littles." She huffed past him to the sink and began filling a kettle.

The boys immediately started wailing about the evils of being condemned to the den, but Sirius ignored them. Crossing the hallway, he chucked the two hooligans to the floor. They fell in a scrambling, giggling heap and immediately jumped up to race back to the kitchen. To their great disappointment, they were tossed back at the edge of a carpet.

Molly bustled up behind Sirius, handing him a cup of tea. "Age line," she said proudly.

The twins were now taking turns running at the door and seeing how far they could make it before getting tossed back.

"Genius," said Sirius. Molly beamed.

"And where—?" Sirius began. Molly nodded her head at the corner.

Harry was sitting against the edge of a sofa, holding tightly to a shabby teddy bear and looking intently at Ron. The redhead was proudly showing off the thick pages of a child's book that he was pretending to read to Harry. The book was upside down. Belatedly, he noticed another redhead curled up in an arm chair, spectacles perched on a long, thin nose that was nearly touching the pages of a book far too big for him. He couldn't remember this one's name, but he looked to be about five.

"Harry's been quiet, but he seems to be enjoying the company," Molly informed him. She ran a critical eye up and down over his leathers. "You taking him home on that ghastly bike of yours?" she asked suspiciously.

"Yes," Sirius said, trying not to get defensive. "Don't worry! I have a side car with a safety seat. Smythwethr approved it herself. In fact she rather forced it on me."

Molly gave him _the look_ , the one he dreaded from all happily attached females. "That was kind of her," she said far too neutrally.

"No, it was her job," Sirius replied carefully. When Molly continued giving him _the look_ he huffed irritably. "Okay, yes, she was very nice about it. But she works for social services and made it a requirement of continued custody, oh, yeah, and she's about fifteen years older than me, so don't get any ideas!"

Molly shrugged. "Alright. But one of these days—"

"—I'll find a nice girl and settle down, etc. etc."

"Precisely! You're far too—"

"—too devilishly handsome and reckless and fabulously wealthy to be single. Yes, I know."

Molly sniffed and they both went back to their tea. It had been a frequent conversation between them over the years, and Molly wasn't the only one itching to play matchmaker. Harry was still absorbed in watching Ron pretend to read the story. Judging by the hint of a smile, Harry had caught on that Ron was making it all up, but was content to enjoy Ron's version of the book.

"How's Remus?" Molly asked.

"Good. He firecalled last night. You'd think the department swallowed him whole as little as we see of him. He sent me a hilarious birthday card though. Ha! It had a witch in a ….a….um…" He cleared his throat. Now he thought about it he really _didn't_ want to tell Molly about the card. It had been a bit scandalous. "Anyway, he seems to like the job. It keeps him busy and he gets to be right in the thick of it. Lucky bastard." Sirius sniffed disdainfully. "He was never such a stickler about rules as a prefect. I ask about anything other than what kind of tea he's having and it's all 'sorry, Padfoot, that's _confidential._ '"

She hummed knowingly. He guessed she approved of this new leaf Remus had turned over, saying 'no' every once in a while. He sought for another topic.

"Don't you have another sprog running around?" he asked.

"Oh, Charlie's wandering around outside. He's quiet enough not to make trouble for the neighbors, smart enough to avoid trouble, and tough enough to get out of any that finds him. And smart as a fiddle!"

Sirius chuckled then peered back into the den at Harry.

"Thank you for watching him," Sirius said.

Molly made a sound somewhere between a harrumph and a sigh. "Not a bit of it. It's… rather nice, being useful." Sirius noted that her hand shook as she set her tea cup back on the saucer in her left hand.

While never an official member of the Order, she had nevertheless been a backbone for all of them. Busy and blustering and surrounded by toddlers she still managed to keep all their spirits up, their bruises tended, and bellies fed. Even Arthur couldn't deny that with Molly Weasley on guard the Burrow was the most secure safe house in Britain—as much as he might _want_ to deny it.

"Molly, is everything alright?"

She blinked at him. "What? Oh, of course. Of course, Sirius. It's…" she sniffed. "It's all just so bloody wonderful!"

She turned sharply back to the kitchen, all but threw her cup and saucer on the counter, and stood before the kitchen sink.

Sirius followed, bewildered. "Molly, what….?" He trailed off as his eyes fell on a box on the counter in the corner. He'd seen stacks of those boxes around the Auror offices and the MLE. The label on the side was sharp and fresh: "PREWETT, F" and below that, "PREWETT, G." He was close enough to see some of the contents.

On the top, a fashionable pocket watch glinted at him; beneath that lay a tattered, much ear marked book on curse breaking; two wand tips poked up out of a corner; a pair of cracked glasses; the beater gloves Fabian liked to wear on frosty nights; and a patched, green muffler, none too clean. He couldn't be sure, but he thought Gideon might have worn that muffler at his last Order meeting, showing off how Molly had patched up a tear he'd gotten on his previous assignment _. "Better than new, y'see!"_ They were both so happy that night. Vivacious; laughing; confident despite how badly the Order was pressed. Everything he and James had wanted to be. And then suddenly it was all over.

"It came this morning," Molly said. Sirius looked up and saw her looking at the box too, her face tight. "One month, Sirius, almost to the day. If they could have held on just one more month…" She spun back around and blew her nose messily into a kitchen towel. "I'm sorry, Sirius. The last thing you need now is an old biddy going to pieces on you, but—"

"Molly, you are hardly old by any stretch of the imagination. And we all miss Gideon and Fabian. We miss a lot of people."

"Of course. Of course, you're right. Of course! It's just… if I'd _been there…"_ her jaw was tight and Sirius could nearly hear her teeth grinding. " _Dolohov!_ " she spat.

"Molly, there were five of them—"

"Then it would have been an even match! I could've taken Dolohov in my sleep," she all but shouted, "with three of the children on my back!"

She burst into angry tears. It was a well-known secret that Molly could out-duel anyone in the Order, except perhaps Dumbledore. She had once challenged Moody and beat him handily trying to convince Arthur to let her join.

Sirius cautiously crossed the kitchen. It felt odd to be comforting someone ten years his senior. "We can't know what would've happened. Maybe they'd still be here if you had been with them, but maybe you'd be dead right along with them. And what about all your kids?"

Molly trembled. "I don't know, Sirius. It's…I hate to say it but I am beginning to hate that argument. I feel like I'm stuck in a box. I could've done _something_!" she hiccupped. "At the very least, those bastards would've paid for it."

"They'll spend the rest of their lives paying for it in Azkaban, Molly."

She sniffed disdainfully. "If I'd been there," she said darkly, "there wouldn't' be any of them to go to Azkaban."

"Mum?"

Sirius looked over his shoulder to see the bespectacled five year old peeking around the corner.

"Yes, Percy?" Molly said without turning. She sniffled but otherwise had her voice totally under control. "What is it, dear?"

"Can I read in here? The twins are being obnoxious," Percy stated flatly.

Sirius raised a brow and chuckled. "Obnoxious? How old are you? Five? Where'd you get that kind of vocabulary?"

Percy glared at him. "I have a highly advanced lexicon," he huffed. "I read." _You ignorant cretin_. He didn't say that bit out loud, but it was clearly implied.

Molly waved vaguely and Percy climbed onto a high stool at the counter and bent nearly double over the book. Wiping her hands on a towel, Molly turned to face the box on the far side of the kitchen.

"Bill was pretty shook up when—," she swallowed and took a careful, deep breath, "when we lost them. So, I think I'll save it all for Christmas hols; let him have a go. Horrid way to start your first year at Hogwarts."

"Good idea." Sirius could just see the corner of that book on curse breaking. "What about that book? Might be a bit advanced for a kid his age, eh?"

Molly sniffed and looked pointedly at the large tome Percy was bent over. "Where do you think that one gets it? Not a book in England too advanced for those two."

* * *

 _Monday Evening_

Clyn swirled his port and took a delicate sip. Excellent! Sublime, even—and thoroughly unsurprising given the source.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Bah. Not a bit of it. Tosh! That's what it is. Horrid tosh. Drink it all, I beg you. I have a most interesting variety coming in sometime over the week end. Not true port of course, but it's from a Conclave in Brazil! Sounds very fine."

Clyn smiled as the speaker threw back his own glass. Despite his protests it was clear that his employer enjoyed drinking the port nearly as much as he enjoyed blustering about it.

A wide, fleshy hand set the exquisitely cut crystal glass down so quickly one could be forgiven for assuming him careless. But Clyn knew from long experience that nothing, absolutely nothing this man did was careless. His bulk—and there was a great deal of it—belied both his age and his agility. The man looked like a marshmallow but moved like a gymnast. And he could duel with the best!

Eyes as dark and glittering as onyx stones peered at him from a wide, wingback armchair covered in dark leather.

"Well?"

Clyn set down his own glass, still half full. He settled back into his chair, bringing one ankle onto the other knee and tapping his fingers together.

"I received an interesting letter today. My inquiries reveal its contents to be accurate. It is really more amusing than concerning, but still—"

"Do get on with it, Taft." Cassiopeia's sharp voice cut him off. By all appearances the old witch was absorbed in an ancient—albeit well preserved—tome from his lord's library. But that in no way meant she was not listening with rapt attention.

Clyn cleared his throat. As much as he admired her, he could never quite bring himself to like the woman.

"Should the wardship go through—which it will—and should young Sirius take over your estates before young Harry reaches his majority, tragic as that would be, Master Sirius will find himself the owner or representative of controlling interests in seven essential corporations in the British Quidditch industry."

They both blinked at him. Cassie actually let her book drift down into her lap.

"That's…" she began.

"Enough for him to singlehandedly run the national sport? Just about, yes."

A deep chuckle rumbled from the wingback chair. Cassie sniffed in that direction.

"You would find it hilarious. The boy is barely controllable as it is! He'll be—"

Clyn waved a pacifying hand. "If it comes to that, we—and he—will have far more pressing concerns." His eyes flickered to the chuckling chair and the man whose demise would of necessity predate such an eventuality.

"Then why precisely are you bothering _us_ with it?" Cassie snapped.

"Firstly, so we can ensure no one out to make trouble discovers it." At her confused squint he continued, "Because it might look like a motive for the wardship." Yes, she understood now.

"And secondly—I think you'll like this, Madam—if we make him our representative over a few choice investments now we could give him something to keep him occupied and, how did you put it? 'Out of our hair?' If we play it right, particularly with timing, we can make Sirius the spokesman for 74% of the shareholders of the Nimbus Racing Broom Company. From what I know of the lad I think that might motivate him to play nice in other areas where he might naturally be more resistant to our—I should say, _your_ —way of doing things."

Cassiopeia looked torn between outrage—she had often and loudly proclaimed Quidditch an uncouth, reckless, and ridiculous waste of talent—and appreciation. The chuckles from the wingback chair had turned into guffaws, though whether over the situation or Cassie's consternation Taft wasn't entirely sure.

"Stupendous, Taft! Absolutely stupendous!"

He chuckled on for a moment and then quieted.

"But no. No, that won't be necessary. I made a grave mistake with his father, several actually, but there is one I mean to remedy as soon as possible. I hope you are free tomorrow, Taft. I shall have need of you I think. Stop glaring, Cassie. You'll get your hands on the boy soon enough."

* * *

Sirius closed the door to the nursery just as an owl swopped in through the living room window. It held out its leg and the attached scroll with all the dignity of a butler.

Sirius swallowed. This could only be something to do with the wardship. In three days they would start visiting his properties. His properties! Plural! Taft assured him everything was all set, but he so far he had only the vaguest idea where these places even were.

Sirius flicked open the scroll.

 _Dear Sirius Orion Black, Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black._

 _Your presence is required at Saint Hepsibah's Cathedral tomorrow at 10 o'clock. Master Harry is permitted to attend._

 _Be sure to attire yourself appropriately._

 _You loving grandfather,_

 _Arcturus Aldebaran Black, Pater Familia of the Noble and Most Ancient Etc._

Sirius cocked an eyebrow at the missive. One day. Could he just have one day to fret about the pending wardship being finalized without some other hullabaloo? First the funeral and the award ceremony, then a ghastly meeting with the Aurors about bloody Bellatrix, today the sentencing, and now, tomorrow, facing his grandfather for the first time in… eight years?

The elegant gray owl hooted impatiently at him.

"Yes, yes, alright. Of course I'm coming," Sirius replied testily, grabbing some parchment off a stack near the owl perch. "Tell grandad I'll be there and so will Harry."

Sirius dipped a quill in ink to write just this on a scrap of parchment when the owl launched from the perch and flew out the window with a loud, dignified, hoot.

Sirius threw down the quill and crumpled the scrap he'd started writing on.

"Bloody show off."

* * *

 _Tuesday, November 10, in the wee hours_

The night air split with a crack!

Frank Bryce fell out of his chair with a crash and a yell.

"What? What's 'at?! Who's there?! Aaagh!" He tripped over his cane in the dark and lay on the carpet for a moment, listening. Definitely sounds coming from the big house. "Damn, fool kids again. I'll get them this time!"

He sat up, more carefully this time, and used the cane to pull himself to his feet. Grabbing an electric lantern (dash cunning contraption!) and donning a padded coat over his flannel pajamas he quietly left the cottage. The kids these days had no respect for property—or their elders! Just because he limped they thought they could get away with burgling the big house. He'd show them!

Those kids would learn this time! They'd rue the day they—what's this now?

Oh, there was activity at the big house, right enough, but it wasn't any kids. Four men in cloaks were walking through the back garden, heading to the old graveyard.

Frank crouched back behind a wheel barrow and tried to listen. He could only catch a few words, as far away as he was.

"…not my first visit…murdered them," said a first voice, a tall man with an even taller hat. The voice was full of confidence and rang through the night.

"Bloody bastard. Should have …" The second voice was gruff and harsh. That man constantly turned in circles as he moved, scanning the area. Frank sensed a fellow veteran.

"…never fear, Moody…" said a fourth voice, soothing and calm, and then he said something about hoar frost.

The fourth figure, a looming giant in the dark, said nothing.

As they moved away, Frank tiptoed after them. He could only catch a few words here and there and most of it was hardly intelligible. Hoar frost was mentioned several times, which was quite odd. It was chilly, for November, but not nearly that cold!

They stopped around a very familiar grave stone, one that had haunted Frank's past and present for nearly four decades: the grave of Tom Riddle.

Frank slowly crept closer until he could hear them more clearly.

"No traps," said the third voice. Frank could now see a steady looking man of middling height. Even in the moonlight his hair was clearly tinged with red. His bright eyes were fixed on the grave.

The looming fourth man spoke with a voice like a freight train. "Yes. It is clear. And it is whole."

"Bloody fool, Riddle. Went to so many lengths to protect his bloody hoar crosses but didn't think to protect the one thing he'd need to use them." That was the second man. Even now he wasn't looking at the grave, as the others were, but scanning the surroundings. He stopped facing the raised tomb Frank crouched behind then whispered to the first man. Frank couldn't catch his words but he heard the reply clearly enough.

"No matter, Alastor. The Muggle is no threat to us." With all these foreign words Frank wasn't sure if he should be worried about spies or druggies. "Neither knowledge or ignorance will protect him. Let him watch, if he wishes." Peeking around the tomb Frank felt himself pierced by those blue eyes, even from such a distance.

"Have no fear, my good man," the tall man called out to him. "We mean no harm to you or to anyone, and will soon be gone. Tiberius, Ignatius, are we ready?"

The other two men nodded, still focused on the grave. All four of them now pulled thin, polished sticks from their cloaks. Of all the bizarre—they started singing. No, not singing. Chanting! They were chanting! And definitely not in English.

Frank felt a shiver crawl up his spine and stay there. The wind picked up but the air got thicker, sort of charged, like when a thunderstorm is brewing. Slowly Frank started to back away.

Suddenly, Old Blue Eyes thrust his stick at the grave and called out in a loud voice. The ground shook and a crack opened up across the grave.

"Catch it!" the red haired man called. "All of it! None must escape!"

He and the looming shadow did a brief, furious dance, waving their arms and chanting a different tune. Frank could see a kind of mist or dust shooting from the crack, but instead of billowing across the graveyard it gathered neatly into a spinning orb between the two men.

After a few moments the mist stopped flowing.

"Is that all of it, Albus?" said Red Hair.

Old Blue Eyes swept his arms back and forth level to the ground. "It is," he pronounced.

"All right, Riddle," said Red Hair, "let's see what you make of this. Ready?"

"Ready!" they all replied.

"EVANESCO!" they shouted, triumphantly.

The swirling orb vanished. Frank shook his head to clear it. No, he had seen right. It was gone. Somehow he knew that the dust had ceased to exist entirely.

The men all seemed to stand up straighter. Old Blue Eyes casually waved his stick at the ground and the grave resealed itself.

"Well done, all of you," he said.

"Excellent." Red Hair seemed almost gleeful. "This is truly, truly excellent! We've done it."

"Gone for good, the bloody bastard," the Veteran spat. "And good riddance."

The looming giant merely hummed, but he too radiated a sense of satisfaction.

"There is still his wraith, and the hoar crosses must be dealt with," Old Blue Eyes said, seriously. "Ignatius, be sure to thank Lucius,"

"I'll have Crouch knock a couple thousand off his _donations._ " There was a deep chuckle.

"And now, gentlemen, I must bid you good night. I shall sleep easier tonight than I have for half a century." The tall man bowed politely then turned on his heel and— Bang! He was gone.

They were all gone! As soon as the old man had spun away the others did as well.

Frank stood for a moment staring at the grave in the light of the waxing gibbons. Then quite suddenly he sat down.

He thought back over the evening, even going so far as to hold his hand to his mouth and smell his breath.

"Frank," he said to himself. "You over did Daniel's home brew. You knew it was a problem, but you did it anyway. That's it, no more'n a schooner from now on! Not for anything."

* * *

 _Later that morning_

Sirius hitched Harry a little higher on his hip as he climbed the steps. Saint Hepsibah's turned out to be a positively _ancient_ church—cathedral, officially, though it hardly qualified—in the middle of a desolate moor in Cornwall. He'd meant to drive the motorcycle the whole way, but when the roads got rough through the moor he kicked on the Notice-Me-Not charm and took off. Harry had squealed in delight!

The long sloping hill leading up to the church was dotted with cairns and tiny, well-worn tracks from generations upon generations of tourists and worshipers paying their respects. Turning on the steps he could just see the edges of a town a few miles south.

Stepping through the doors he blinked in shock. The inside was far, _far_ bigger than the outside!

And much more structurally sound. Not even Westminster could hold a candle to this. For one thing, the stained glass windows moved, as did the gargoyles. Gilded candelabras floated throughout the interior, much like the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

"I thought you were told to dress appropriately," a voice hissed in his ear.

Sirius turned to see Taft at his shoulder wearing a decidedly miffed expression. Sirius cocked an eye brow and hissed back.

"Leathers are perfectly appropriate for a country ride with my godson."

Taft continued to glare at him.

With a roll of his eyes Sirius snapped his wand out of the holster on his wrist and swept it down in from of him, removing the transfiguration spell and allowing the admittedly very sexy leather jacket and chaps to melt into a distinguished suit beneath flowing outer robes.

"Impressive," a deep, jolly voice said from further in the nave. "I see the family Talent hasn't passed you by. That's good."

Sirius tightened his grip on Harry. The boy was paying no attention whatsoever and was instead whipping his head around to stare at their surroundings.

A short, round figure slowly trundled up the nave. As he passed out of the last shadow Sirius took his first real look at his grandfather. His last brief glimpse during third year holidays hardly counted; Sirius had been so angry after another tirade from his mother he'd spent the whole day hiding in a cupboard in the library reading Uncle Alphard's collection of muggle comics. He'd hardly looked at his grandfather. The next year he'd refused to attend the family gathering, and the year after that he ran away to live with the Potters. This man was a stranger, and one Sirius was not entirely sure he could trust.

Somehow Arcturus seemed both shorter and wider than he actually was. He regarded Sirius with confident interest, black eyes neither piercing nor wary.

"Grandad," Sirius said tightly, "Nice to see you. I hope you're well."

"Bah. You're a bad liar, son. Horrible. Did you see that, Taft? Horrible!" He waved a polished black cane and jabbed it towards Sirius for emphasis. "It's not nice to see me, is it? Didn't think so. What I know of you, you're damn near terrified but too damn stubborn to admit it. Bah! Only natural. Grown quite a bit since I saw you last, haven't you? Filled out somewhat too, eh? Not bad looking, which is a nice bonus." He paused and tapped his walking stick on the floor, pursing his lips.

"Walk with me, boy." He turned and started a slow amble back into the nave.

With a quick glance at Taft, who nodded urgently, Sirius followed. Harry was fully absorbed in looking at the windows, though he occasionally interrupted them with some chatter about the figures and bright colors.

Sirius coughed. "Um, I want to thank you. You know, for…" he trailed off, not entire sure how to approach the issue of his un-disowning. He held up his hand to show the Black family ring.

His grandfather waved away his thanks. "What had to be done." He kept walking. "I hope to see rather a lot of you from here on out, my boy. Well, ha! Boy, I suppose I can't call you that now, can I? You have some pet name or shall we stick with Sirius? No? Well. Yes, I mean to rectify my mistakes with your father. I never should have let him marry Pollux's girl. What a disaster! Bah! My apologies again, I always was a rambler.

"To the point! And the point is this, Sirius, you have to know what it _means_ to be a Black. I thought your father understood, and that naturally he'd pass that on. Bah! More fool me."

He sighed heavily. They'd reached the front pew now. A few more steps would take them up the dais to the marble altar. Beyond he could just see the choir loft behind a carved screen that reached at least two stories high. To left and right the transepts stretched at least another eighty feet in each direction.

With a curt nod to the altar, hardly a bow at all, Arcturus turned and settled in the pew. Sirius followed, sitting Harry on his knee.

"Have you found your Form?"

Sirius blinked at him. "My…what?"

"Your Animagus Form?"

"My…how did you…?"

The man laughed. "My boy—ah, Sirius, my apologies! Sirius, we are _all_ Animagi. Not a Black in centuries who hasn't been! Ha! Not a one of us legal, of course. What a joke, eh? Oh! Haha! Naturally, you don't know; my own grandfather, Sirius the First, put through the law requiring us to Register! None of us ever have though."

He chuckled. Sirius felt a grin threatening to escape. This was…not what he has expected.

"So, what's your Form, eh?" Arcturus tapped his cane on the floor.

"Wolfhound," Sirius said cautiously.

"Ha! Excellent. Excellent! I'm a badger myself. Cassie and Pollux tried to tease me something awful! Said I ought to have been in Hufflepuff! Of course, Pollux is a manky polecat and Cassie—-ha! I'll let her tell you herself. She loves the surprise!"

He tapped his cane on the floor again.

"Transfiguration," he said suddenly. "That's the Family Talent. It's in the Blood. Strong, old blood. That's how we built the empire."

Sirius felt his brows furrow.

"I've lost you haven't i?" Arcturus sighed heavily again. "Morghana's tomb! What a mess? The empire, Sirius! The Black Empire!"

When Sirius continued to frown at him Arcturus huffed angrily and rapped is cane on the pew back. "Damn it all, boy, where did you think it all comes from? The _trade_ empire! Coal and tin and silver, sheep, cotton, Dragon scales, wand wood, muggle factories, a score of ships, trains on three continents! Half the trade in and out of England goes through our hands in some way or another. Did you father seriously tell you _nothing_ of our history? Merlin's bloody bollocks, if that boy were still alive I'd tan his hide so dark he'd be black for true!"

Arcturus growled and banged his cane again. Harry was staring at him wide eyed and clinging to Sirius' shirt. Arcturus settled himself a bit at Harry's uncertain gaze. With a flick of his wand Arcturus produced a delicious looking plate of baklava and held it out to Harry.

"Pardon me, my lad. Not to fear! Pinwyth makes them himself. Nothing in them but the best honey in Cornwall."

He set the plate on the pew between them within Harry's reach and then settled back.

"What a blasted buggering mess." He frowned at the altar. "Well, nothing to do but move forward. You'll have to leave the Ministry, of course."

Sirius choked on the piece of baklava he'd snitched. "What? No."

"Well, naturally! Black's don't have _jobs_ , Sirius. Well, one day you'll be on the Wizengamot, of course, and the House of Lords. Then there's—"

"The House of—what?" The rest of the piece of baklava dropped from Sirius hand, slid down Harry's forehead and into the toddler's lap. Harry giggled and scooped it up, smearing honey all over his face in his attempts to eat it whole.

"The House of Lords, obviously. Don't tell me…Damn it all! By Merlin, Sirius, what did you think it meant? Lord Black? Why do you think blood matters so much? Or at all for that matter? The House of Commons changes too much. We could never have representatives in the House of Commons; we'd have to use too much magic just to protect the Statute of Secrecy that we could never maintain the integrity of House. But the House of Lords is only shook up when one of them dies. Far easier."

Sirius was beginning to feel rather light headed. He barely noticed when Taft gently lifted Harry from his lap and handed him a steaming cup of tea.

"You mean the Muggle government. We have…people in the Muggle government?"

A wave of red flushed over Arcturus face and his jaw visibly clenched. He seemed to be containing another cane-whacking outburst with difficulty. "Yes," he huffed. "Yes, Sirius. The Muggle Government, of which our own Ministry is merely a branch. Sadly some of the old families are now Squib lines. Even so there are near three score Peers from our people. Though no one ever notices, we have had by far the highest attendance rates of all Peers since John signed the Magna Carta! Not to mention we all _are_ Lords, for true. Statute be damned, it's our _right_ to sit in that Chamber!"

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "But how do you…I mean, the Statutes…" He trailed off as Arcturus waved a dismissive hand.

"I'll explain that all another time. Suffice to say the other Peers know all about us and we about them. We aren't _spies_ , Sirius! Nor manipulators. We are Peers! We present laws, argue about them, vote on them, just like they do. But their knowledge is contained within the Chamber. Outside the Chamber that knowledge is sealed so that they won't even think about it, but inside the Chamber they can and must be told everything about us. How else could they trust us enough to get anything done?" He gave Sirius a squinty look and shook his head. "Merlin's beard, what a mess."

Sirius gulped the tea, ignoring his scalded tongue. "How do you keep anyone from Imperius-ing the Muggles?"

"Well, the mace, obviously."

Sirius blinked.

Arcturus growled. "The mace! The House's mace! What do they teach in school these days?" He rapped his cane on the floor and rubbed his forehead with a thick hand. With a deep inhale he went on in the tone of a disappointed lecturer.

"Blast it all! The mace represents the authority of the monarch over the meeting of the House; without it the House is not allowed to be in session. The mace is enchanted to prevent any magic from working in the Chamber. Even spells cast outside the Chamber will fail once the target enters the mace's influence. Thus, no one can come in disguise or be influenced by a potion, spell, or curse, and no one can be cursed or hexed during the session.

"Enough history! I must have a word with the Governors about that blasted ghost, it seems. I'll send in the exorcist myself if I bloody have to.

"Now, back to business! You must leave your post at the Ministry. Ah-a-ah! No arguments! Even if you weren't as ignorant as a toad I'd insist as you must begin to take your place as Heir to the Family. As its future Pater Familia you are obligated— _obligated—_ to learn how to run it, and how to discharge the duties to our people that you will likewise inherit. Since you obviously know nothing _at all_ about our history, you must begin to learn. At! Once! You won't possibly have time for all that and keeping that little rascal alive if you're also trying to play Auror."

"I do not _play_ Auror—"

Arcturus cut him off with a glare. "You have responsibilities now, Sirius. To Harry, to us, to all our people, even to your beloved dead. That is enough for anyone to be getting on with. To maintain your place at the Ministry would tear you in two. You cannot do it."

Despite himself Sirius could see the logic. It was just… so much different than he had wanted. He loved the simplicity of being an Auror! It was adventurous and mysterious, alluring, but in the end you showed up, fought the battle in front of you and caught the bad guy. What grandad was describing sounded complicated and _hard_. He crossed his arms and hunched over, scuffing his feet on the floor. He felt like a teenager and knew he looked like one but at the moment he didn't care. His dreams were curling up and sulking away like beaten dogs.

"Business. That doesn't sound very appealing. I'm not very good at trade."

Arcturus huffed. "Bah. Call it trade if you like. Some of it is, truly. The _legal_ stuff, anyway."

Sirius' head whipped up to find Arcturus sharing a wicked grin with him.

"Others might use the word smuggling. And we have even been known to dabble in piracy."

Sirius' silently echoed the word 'piracy' while Arcturus laughed merrily.

"Where do you think the term 'Black Market' came from, eh? Ha!" He rubbed his goatee. "From the beginning, then. Near a thousand years ago the first Black discovered he was a wizard as he was working in a tin mine, just down the coast. He found he could follow a vein wherever he wanted it to go. He wanted to open a wing to the east, behold a vein appeared to the east. He wanted to turn back north, the vein turned north. Took him years to realize he wasn't following the veins, but _making_ them! Ha ha! That's good, eh? Mining! That's what started it all. He started his own mine, and another, and another. He branched into other metals and soon had himself a tidy little concern going. His mines never failed and his stock was always pure."

Harry ran full tilt across the dais, shrieking happily under Taft's watchful eye.

"But, what about when the spells wore off? Didn't anyone notice?" Sirius asked.

"Ha! That's the Talent, my boy! Didn't you ever notice your Transfigurations to last quite a bit longer than the rest of your class's? Ore produced by Black wizards behaves just like true ore for well over a century—more if the wizard is strong enough. By then it can't be traced back to us and most assume it breaks because it's just old, if they haven't thrown it out already! Ha!

"And o' course, the Cornish never were much for paying the tariffs. Rampant smugglers the lot, and we the worst of them all! Ha! Easy as pie for a wizard to get a ship past the excise men. Easy as that! Well, wasn't long before we had a fleet of trading ships, and the seas were rough, dangerous places then. Perilous, fearful dangerous. Why anything could happen!"

He winked at Sirius. Sirius took a gulp of his tea, nearly draining it and watched Harry frolicking up and down the side aisles. He looked so like James sometimes it hurt!

"This is all very fascinating, Grandad." Sirius tried not to slouch. "This…a lot of things make sense now. A bit anyway." He fixed his eyes on his grandfather and prepared to dig his heels in. "But I am not leaving the Ministry. I can't stop being what I am; it's not fair to me, or the department, or even to Harry. I won't be fit to live with. And I AM an Auror. Maybe I'll cut back one day, maybe sooner than I think. In the mean time I'll do my best to help out with your… empire thing."

Arcturus sat frowning at him. Lips pursed, he rapped his thumb on the top of his cane.

"Oh, very well. For now."

He held out his hand and Sirius took it. Part of him felt that had been far too easy, but as Arcturus launched into a more detailed lecture on family history, with tidbits regarding his authority and responsibilities as Black Family Heir thrown in willy nilly, he felt that was good enough to be getting on with.

* * *

 _Late evening, Tues Nov 10_

Remus rubbed a hand across his forehead, vainly trying to ease the headache. He knew the coffee wouldn't help but he drank it anyway. The caffeine put up a valiant fight against the pre-full moon faux flu, and though he was moderately functional—he could at least walk around and make coffee—proper deductive reasoning might as well have been as advanced as brewing the Elixir of Life.

 _Though, that's supposed to be rather easy, assuming you've made the Stone._ _Huh, that's probably my one deep thought for the day._

His brain promptly shut down again.

"Lupin!" Carmichael's voice echoed from another room. "Lupin! Come here, we have a new development."

With a groan concerningly close to a growl, Remus pushed his head up from the table and staggered out of the break room. This was why he never drank heavily. He spent at least three days every month with an incurable hangover, no need to inflict that on himself voluntarily.

He slumped into the conference room where the others were sending hostile stares at a ragged black book on the table. The smell assaulted him before he'd even passed the threshold! It filled the room and was so rank he gagged.

Meaghana leaned over the book. "Is that another Horcrux?" Her mouth was twisted as if her tea had gone sour.

"Got it in one," Carmichael replied.

Remus leaned against the wall as far from the book as he could get. It was all he could do not to snarl and growl at the cursed thing!

Jayden squinted at the book, then picked it up delicately with one hand and held it over the other. He muttered a handful of spells as his right hand danced in patterns beneath and beside the book.

He drew back sharply. "This is not _just_ a Horcrux." He carefully placed it on the table and stepped back.

"Well spotted," Carmichael chimed. "It is not just a Horcrux, but we are not sure what else it is."

He picked it up unceremoniously and fanned the pages. "We know this is Riddle's 'diary' but as you can see, no writing. We also know he gave it to Malfoy with instructions to protect it until it _could be of use_. Now, this tells us there is some other nefarious purpose contained in this godawful book. Your task is to sniff out what this could be. Given the date of the book and its muggle origins I suspect it was obtained while Riddle was at Hogwarts. We may find something to fill those holes in the Memories from Dumbledore."

He returned it to the table.

"Meaghana, Jayden, River, I think you three should take point on this one. We want as much information as possible from this thing. I suspect though, that any information may come at a cost. Be very careful."

Celestia gave Meaghana's shoulder a tight squeeze and then swept from the room, already intent on other leads. Carmichael followed. Tiberius turned towards the door but stopped with his eyes on Remus. He took a step closer.

"You are unwell. The change comes?"

Remus blinked. He wasn't sure which was more surprising: that the big man knew about, or perhaps could somehow sense the approaching transformation; that he could mention it the way others would mention the imminent arrival of the post man; or that the deep, reverberating voice seemed to push back the headache.

"Uh…yeah, tomorrow night. Tomorrow I'll be too sick to do much more than pour myself tea."

Tiberius nodded. "I have often wondered at the… _possibilities_ of your kind." He spoke softly to not interrupt the rising discussions amongst the others. Jayden was casting a detection spell; River was drawing a very intricate rune circle on the wide parchment surface. Meaghana, bewilderingly, was making tea and humming to herself, though it seemed to be an oddly focused hum.

"Perhaps, once this business is through, you would allow me—"

"I'm not a bloody science experiment!" Remus snapped. The others flicked their eyes his direction and he lowered his voice. "What do you mean 'possibilities'?"

Tiberius regarded Remus with a thoughtful stare. "Merely that the were-peoples may have untapped potential. It seems to me to be a thing half done. Perhaps there is a way to turn this condition from a curse to an advantage. Surely you would welcome such a change."

Remus considered his words. It sounded like Tiberius thought there was hope. Hope for what though? For a cure? To remove the wolf entirely? That was impossible, Remus was sure. Having found an equilibrium of sorts after so many years of struggle he was unsure how much he was willing to risk.

"At what cost, Tiberius? There is always a cost." Remus saw the big shoulders lower just a tad.

With a heavy sigh—the headache was back—Remus pushed off the wall and headed towards the door. He needed more coffee, or maybe something stronger.

He could still feel Tiberius' eyes, like awls piercing his back.

"I'll think about it."

He had the vague impression of a wolf's ears flicking up, interested yet doubtful. Suspicious. As he walked away the wolf settled down again, but he could almost feel the wolf's eyes scanning back and forth, alert, watching, waiting… considering.

* * *

 _1700 miles away_

The squirrel went rigid. Its eyes rolled and every muscle strained and trembled but it could not move. Suddenly it darted forward but the movements were uncoordinated, jerky, and it tripped several times as it raced across the glen before running head first into a tree trunk.

With a wordless, howling curse the wraith left the unconscious rodent. Human ears likely would have heard nothing but the wraith felt all the wildlife within a hundred yards flee in all directions.

 _Worthless! Less than worthless!_

The wraith whirled back across the glen and down a ravine on the north side. Across a pathetic, trickling stream a crag rose nigh a hundred feet to the crumbling battlements of an ancient fortress.

Once, a lifetime ago, the wraith had stalked those ruined halls with confidence. He had come, seen, and conquered, returning victorious with treasure in hand. Then the few walls and caved in stair wells had seemed a palace for all they gave him what shelter he needed to seek the diadem—a jewel beyond price!

Now…

He whirled through a partially collapsed arrow slit that overlooked the valley. Inside all was dark. The dark did not bother him. Nothing could bother him now. But he could not change the darkness! He had neither wand to create light nor even hands to strike a match.

Nothing could be worse than this! This utter impotence!

Once he had commanded legions! Gold had flowed and laws crumbled at a crook of his finger! Now even the vermin resisted him.

He flew against the walls, thrashing what he imagined to be his arms against the stones and stomping his illusionary feet. His essence passed through the surface of the walls, neither dealing nor receiving any hurt. A shout of fury left what he imagined to be his throat and passed through the broken doorways as little more than a shrieking wind.

He drifted to the cracked floor stones, preparing to spend another night nursing his hatred, his hunger, and his thirst for the power he once had and would one day have again.


	10. A Living Vessel

**Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter!**

 **A/N: Rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles. Thank you for your patience!**

* * *

Chapter 10

Wednesday, November 11

"So, Uncle Sirius—"

"Less of the 'Uncle,' squirt," Sirius interjected. He carefully set three sundaes on the table and slid them to their respective owners. A tiny dish that had all the fun bits mixed in went to Harry (who still had to be reminded to use a spoon); the towering parfait stayed in front of Sirius; the third, a sundae the size of a softball with three kinds of ice cream and two flavors of fudge, went to his second companion. "Unless you want me to go back to using your full name."

The girl screwed her face up in distaste. "Ewwww. No thanks."

"That's what I thought. Just 'Sirius' is fine."

She giggled. "Okay, Just Sirius. So—"

He cuffed her lightly on the head. "Cheeky."

"Ow! So! Anyway! Since we're like family now—"

"We were always family, squirt. Now we just don't have to be quiet about it."

She rolled her eyes. "Sooooooooo, are we going to see you, like, a lot now?" She dug into her ice cream but watched him carefully. Clearly, underneath the ebullient nature was a healthy skepticism, a neat blend of her parentage.

"I have no idea," Sirius licked his spoon with relish. "Mmmm, this is glorious."

She snickered. "It's called Florean's Glorious Parfait. It ought to be."

"Are you always this snarky?" he asked.

She opened her mouth to argue and was hit in the face with a dollop of ice cream. Harry giggled delightedly.

"I see someone else is enjoying his ice cream," Sirius winked at Harry. "Good job, pup." The door swung open, admitting a tall, curvy woman carrying a toddler. "Ah, there she is. Amuse the pup, will you?" Sirius bolted up before the girl could answer.

"Hello, Alice." Sirius held out his hand.

Alice took it with a hearty grip and a smile. Wizarding robes often hid the fact that Alice Longbottom was incredibly fit. The grip rather hurt. "Sirius. Only you would choose to meet at an ice cream shop in November."

"Hey, it is never too cold for ice cream. Am I right, Neville?"

The toddler buried his sandy head in his mother's shoulder. "We're having a bit of a shy phase," she said.

"No problem. Let me grab you a chair. Want a sundae?"

"No, thank you. We just ate." Alice swung Neville into a chair next to Harry. "Hello, Harry dear. How are you?"

Spoon in his mouth, ice cream smeared all over his face, Harry blinked up at her owlishly then glanced at Sirius.

"It's fine pup. You've met Alice before. You remember Neville." Harry blinked at him skeptically.

Sirius leaned over to the girl. "Do the thing," he whispered.

She rolled her eyes, but then screwed them shut for a moment. When she opened them her nose had turned bright purple! Both boys squealed in delight!

Pulling up a chair for herself, Alice sat. "Who is this?" she asked pleasantly.

"Alice, this is my cousin Dora. Dora, this is Mrs. Alice Longbottom."

Alice frowned slightly but Dora suddenly sat up very straight and looked at Alice with renewed interest.

"Longbottom? As in the famous Auror?"

Alice blinked. "Well, I am an Auror, though I don't know about 'famous.'"

Dora shifted to face the adults squarely across the table. Her nose abruptly popped back to normal. "But you are! I've heard all the stories. You're amazing! Is Frank here too?" She looked around hopefully.

Sirius leaned over. "She's a bit obsessed with Aurors." He said quietly.

Alice quirked an eyebrow. "You said she's your cousin?"

Sirius nodded and took another bite of ice cream. Alice frowned.

"How, exactly, are you related?" she persisted.

Sirius swallowed and frowned back. He was sensing a _mood_. Neville was helping Harry spoon feed him some ice cream. Dora was watching the adults intently.

"Squirt, tell Alice how you know all her stories?" he said encouragingly. He winked at Dora.

"Oh! Well, my dad is a special correspondent for the Prophet."

"Ted Tonks," Sirius supplied.

"Yep. He writes up all the stories and stuff so folks know everything you do to keep 'em safe. _And_ he works with the _Muggles_ when they need to know something!" She beamed with pride. Her dark brown hair took on a slightly golden sheen.

"Ted Tonks?" Alice asked. "How interesting. And who is your mother, dear?"

Sirius coughed into his ice cream and sent Alice a glare which she pointedly ignored.

"Oh, her name's Andromeda. She makes fancy clothes and teaches at the parish school. She's a real stickler for neat writtin' on your homework." Dora crinkled her nose.

Alice slowly lifted her eyes to look at Sirius, eyes that had gone hard and blazing. Sirius had seen that look stop dark wizards in their tracks.

"Sirius, do you mean to tell me—"

Sirius abruptly stood up. "Alice, why don't we come talk over here for a minute? Keep an eye on the kids, squirt." Sirius slid his half-eaten parfait over in front of Dora and marched to a nearby corner. As soon as she was close enough Sirius dropped a _Muffliato_ over them and rounded on her. "Do not—do not!—tell me that you were about to publically defame an eight year old girl, my niece, over a blood relation who _disowned her mother_ for marrying the kindest muggleborn wizard Britain has ever seen, and who she has never and will never meet? _"_

"Your 'niece?' You said she was a cousin?" Alice hissed back.

"She's as good as! Andy was my favorite cousin, Alice." Sirius said low and dangerously. "The only other Black with no interest in the Dark Arts _at all_. I just met that girl last week and I'll be buggered if I let you humiliate and frighten her. She's an innocent kid. She doesn't even know Bellatrix exists, and if Andy and I have any say about it, she never will."

Alice deflated but only slightly. "I still can't believe you would bring her here."

"Why? Where do you want me to bring her? The zoo? They were in hiding for months! She needs some air. Her mother only agreed to let me take her out because you would be here to watch Harry during my meeting with Scrimgeour. She won't let anyone but an Auror near the girl. They're scared, Alice!"

This time Alice swelled. She matched Sirius for height and, he was fairly sure, for brawn. She leaned in and hissed furiously.

"I said I'd watch Harry. Harry! The son of Lily and James! I will not be mixed up in the rest of your infamous kin, Sirius. I will not have Neville mixed up with them. They are twisted. All of them. Who knows what tricks she's got in her cauldron!"

"Tricks?! She's _eight years old!"_ Sirius couldn't believe he was hearing this. From Alice Longbottom!

"And her aunt attacked my house! She's dark blood, Sirius. Dark! And I won't have it around my son!"

Sirius locked eyes with her for a long moment.

"Well then," he said finally. His fury was cold and level, strange for him. He wasn't sure he'd ever been angry and cold before. His anger was always hot and quick. "I think we're done here." Cancelling the _Muffliato —_ he wasn't sure how much good it had done, as everyone was staring at them anyway, well, everyone except Harry and Neville, who were happily painting each other's faces with fudge—he strode to the table.

"Change of plans, squirt. You get to meet Scrimgeour after all," he said tightly.

"Really?!" Dora squealed. Her hair suddenly shot through with streaks of bright pink and tripled in volume.

Sirius nodded. He tried to banish the tight anger from his eyes but he knew it was hopeless. "If we hurry we might even catch old Mad Eye."

Dora squealed again and began clearing their things away—there were now sparkles in the pink streaks. Sirius shot a quick _scourgify_ at Harry's face, which he didn't like one bit, then picked him up perfunctorily. Grabbing Dora's hand Sirius turned to go and stopped facing Alice.

She had likewise scooped up Neville. The two boys were making faces at each other. Sirius hoped Dora couldn't see his expression—she was bouncing excitedly and looking at the door so he thought not. Just as criminals had stopped in their tracks for Alice's glare, they'd wet themselves over his own a time or two. It wouldn't have that effect on Alice, he knew, but he didn't want Dora's hero worship smashed so soon.

Finally, he turned, failing to suppress a sneer. "See you at the office, Longbottom."

* * *

 _Somewhere in the Amazon Jungle_

"…and this! This is your new home, Pedro. So cozy, yes? Many places for you to explore and hide. Very nice, very nice. You will like it very much, yes?"

The hut smelled horrible. Too many strange scents battled each other. Herbs and strange foods and clay-like dust and unwashed old man, all magnified by the humid, stagnant air. It was also tiny! A single room with mud walls and a tiny alcove to one side where a cot was built into the wall. The rest was crowded with pots and jars and baskets and things hanging from the ceiling. Piles of rocks and—were those _bones?_ Dear lord, yes!

The old man prattled on. He seemed to think his voice would sooth the trembling rodent. Peter would have been annoyed if he wasn't so terrified! The international portkey had been ten times as long as any another portkey he'd experienced, and equally more uncomfortable as a rat.

This was to be his life. A rat, confined to this hut!

"And this is our most special friend! Pedro," the old man couldn't even pronounce his name properly! "please you to meet Nagini. She has been my helper for many, many years, yes? Ah, hello, Nagini! Your scales shine beautifully this morning! Did you have good hunting? Yes, yes, of course."

He set Peter down, more of a drop, really, barely two feet from the biggest snake Peter had ever seen! Then the old man bustled away to fuss with piles of crockery.

"Sssssssssssss!" The snake, Nagini? slithered closer and circled around Peter. He had never been so terrified! "You are our new guessssssst? You are not what you sssssseeeem, ffffffriend." Every consonant seemed to be spat out. Her final 'friend' was clearly not meant to be friendly.

Peter squeaked! "I-I-I-I aaaaam a r-r-r-rat nnnnnow." He didn't stop to think about how he could understand a snake.

"I sssssssee." Nagini finished her circuit, but her body continued to coil around him. "My massssster hasss offered you ssssssssanctuary. You will not leave thisssss den."

Her head darted forward and sideways and settled a whisker length from his nose. Her tongue whipped over his face.

"Ifffffff you leave, I ssssssshall hunt you and fffffffffind you. I will ennnnjoy eating you sssssssslowly."

She slithered away, but it took at least half a minute for her coils to unwind enough for Peter to scamper for safety in an overturned earthen pot—ugh! What did the old man put in this pot last?!

* * *

 _Mud and icicles! Scary woman!_

Dora giggled. "Sirius, you said only Harry spoke Parseltongue?"

Sirius pulled himself out of his dark reverie long enough to grin down at her. She had such a spunky smile it was easy despite his dark mood. "I picked up a few things. Here we are!" He pushed open the door to the Auror Department and nearly ran into Mad Eye Moody as he stormed towards the lift.

The veteran halted with all the deftness of a boulder that had planned to stop there anyway.

"Black," he grunted. "At least there's one other person here with some sense, now."

Sirius lifted a brow. "Uh…thank you?"

Mad Eye grunted again. "Well, at least you follow orders. Usually." The veteran's eyebrows screwed up in a menacing fashion.

A giggle drew the madness inducing gaze down and to the side to take in the slender girl with stripes of sparkling pink running through her hair. The gaze likewise took in the toddler on Sirius hip, then returned to Sirius face with an inscrutable expression.

"Bring the sprogs to work day, is it?"

"Oh, well—"

"You're Mad Eye Moody!" Dora interrupted, squealing breathlessly.

Sirius groaned inwardly. No one actually _called_ him 'Mad Eye,' not if they had any sense. Moody glowered at the girl for a moment.

"Observant, aren't you?"

Dora beamed.

Sirius coughed. "Moody, meet Dora, Ted Tonks' girl. She's mad about Aurors."

"Are you now?"

Dora nodded emphatically. "I'm going to be one! It's the best!"

Moody's brows tried to climb into his hair line. "Oh, you are, eh? You want to camp out in dank old castles for days without food or sleep on the tiniest chance a dark wizard will slip up so you can snatch him?"

If anything, Dora's grin grew wider. If she nodded any harder her head was liable to fall off.

Moody grunted. He leaned forward, looming over her. "You want to spend three years in the most grueling training known to wizard kind, after working your little a—ah—ahem, your uh, toes off during school and getting OWLS in practically _every_ subject?"

"Yes!" Dora squealed.

Moody leaned forward even more, squinting at her, practically nose to nose. He growled into her glowing face. "You want to spend every waking moment, and half the sleeping ones, working on spell mastery, martial arts, dueling, and stealth, knowing that last practice could be the thing that separates you from the living and the dearly departed? Knowing that any second you may be called up on to stand between a total stranger and a Killing Curse? Do you?!"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Dora bounced on her toes and her hair flashed to brilliant gold and green zebra stripes shot over her face and down her arms.

Moody looked briefly at the changes, making no comment and slowly stood back. He shot a quick questioning look at Sirius.

"Metamorphmagus," Sirius said, proudly.

"Reeeeeeeally," Moody said with forced mildness. He coughed. "You off to talk with Scrimgeour, Black?" Moody mirrored Sirius' nod and looked back at Dora. "Taking the sprog?"

"Thought I would. She wants to meet him."

Moody grunted. "Well, we can do better than that. I'll make you a deal, Tonks. I know you don't want to sit in on a boring meeting and Harry'll give the two old boys enough trouble as it is. So, how about you and me, we'll play a little game, right here in the office. We'll play a little round of hide-and-seek, just the two of us. First I'll hide on this floor and you come find me. Then we'll turn about and I'll find you. If you find me within ten minutes and if you can hide from me for at least ten minutes, I'll give you dueling lessons, one-on-one, every Saturday for a month."

Throughout his speech Dora's eyes grew as round as saucers, then they kept going. She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

"What do you say, Tonks?" Moody insisted.

She nodded. Sirius was pretty sure she had forgotten how to speak, too.

"Oi! Shacklebolt!" Moody shouted suddenly. "Get out here!"

A dark head poked around a corner, quickly followed by the imposing figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt. He nodded to Sirius. "Black. Nice to see you."

"Enough of that!" Moody interrupted. "I have a job for you, Shacklebolt. This here is Miss Tonks. She and I are going to play a bit of a game while Black persuades Scrimgeour to keep letting him slack off."

Sirius grunted in protest but Moody charged ahead.

"I need you to play referee."

As Moody explained, Shackleton's mouth twisted into a sarcastic smile. "You want me to chaperone while you skiv off the D.E. hunt to play hide-and-seek with a six-year-old?"

"Hey!" Dora interjected—her hair going bright red. "I'm eight, thank you very much!"

Kingsley blinked at the hair. Moody leaned in and growled in Kingsley's ear, none too low.

"She's a metamorphmagus, man! Think! In ten years she could be starting at the Academy. If she's any good, _any good at all_ , I am not letting talent like that get away from us."

Slowly, Kingsley nodded.

"Good man!" Moody slapped his shoulder so hard the man coughed for air. "Black, stop wasting time and get your arse to Scrimgeour. Bloody lazy Mauraders! Tonks! Form up! Face the window!"

Dora did a sharp about face.

"Shacklebolt! Be sure she doesn't peek. Tonks! Commence counting! You have ten seconds…"

As Sirius stepped towards Scrimgeour's office Moody pelted down the opposite corridor.

* * *

 _Thursday, November 12, Dawn_

The door swung open under Remus' fist and he staggered into Sirius' flat. Within two heartbeats he'd shed coat and boots and collapsed onto the couch face first.

"Moony?" Sirius voice echoed from down the hall.

Remus groaned in reply, though he was sure Sirius was too far away to hear it.

Muffled footsteps preceded Sirius into the living room. Remus could feel him looming over the back of the couch. The familiar tingle of a med-scan spell swept through him. He was surprised to feel the wolf whimper. A memory of James' scent drifted across his mind, memories of over a decade of full moons with the Pack. Every morning whoever woke up first —either Sirius or James, and it was the only day either would ever willingly wake up before 10 am—would do a med-scan on everyone. If nothing was serious, he'd then start making a massive pot of coffee over the camp stove they'd moved into the Shack. Then both would begin patching everyone up. After Hogwarts, when life interfered with all-night romps during the full moon, both had given Remus carte blanc to crash the morning after. Both would wake up early—this one day—and if Remus wasn't on their couch they'd Apparate to the other's home and fill in as needed. Until the war turned everything sideways. Having someone to care and to take care of him the morning after a full moon had been the best part of the Marauders, from Remus' perspective. It was something he'd been afraid was gone forever when he'd had to drop out of the Order.

Sirius grunted as he finished the scan. "Hmmph. Well, no broken bones—this time. Few scratches. Nothing I can't fix."

Shifting his weight, Remus tried to free his mouth from the throw pillow with little success. His reply was lost in a wad of upholstery even to his own ears.

Sirius merely grunted again. "You're in luck. Pot just finished." He walked off.

Remus groaned and tried to sit up. It was _hard!_

 _This, this is why I don't drink. Ever._

A loud thunk beside his head finally got him to lift it off the couch. There on the side table was the most beautiful sight in all of England! A steaming mug of perfectly roasted Guatemalan coffee. The smell alone was invigorating and he was sitting up, cup in hand, before his arms could complain.

"Mmmmfff," Remus said from deep in the mug of blessed caffeine.

"You're welcome," Sirius chuckled. He sat down on the coffee table facing Remus. "Ready?"

Resting the mug on his knee, Remus dropped his head to the back of the couch. "Sure."

Working first up one arm, then across the chest and down the other arm, Sirius repeated the med-scan more slowly, interrupted with frequent mutterings of _'Episkey._ ' Remus kicked his legs up onto the table next to Sirius, crossed at the ankles, and Sirius repeated the procedure up each leg.

"Back?"

"It's fine," Remus muttered, eyes barely open.

Sirius grunted. "Sure it is." Remus could feel the other man roll his eyes, but he heard Sirius move off anyway.

"None of your new colleagues could patch you up?" Sirius asked in a carefully neutral tone. Remus could have sworn his ear twitched hearing it.

"Could have. Didn't ask. Busy on a new project."

The tap came on in the kitchen and Sirius banged a pot—Remus assumed it was a pot.

"Tell me you aren't going to try to cook again, Pads," Remus ground out.

A barking laugh echoed out of the next room. "I have a lot more practice than last time, Moony. And it's just sausages. Surely I can fry a couple bangers without burning down the block?"

Remus cracked an eye. Sure enough the man was slapping a handful of thick sausages into a pan—with fire under it! "Not sure I'd take that bet," he said.

"Ha ha."

After a few minutes Sirius came back and sprawled in the cushy arm chair. The smells of hot sausage and toast were making Remus salivate.

"So, how was the new wolf run?" Sirius asked with a wicked grin.

Remus chuckled. "Delicious," he licked his lips dramatically. Sirius blinked and Remus continued. "Fresh game: deer, turkeys, and so many rabbits. Mmmm. Really tasty rabbits."

Sirius shivered. "That's disgusting."

"Says the dog who couldn't stop himself from chasing a rabbit if it leapt of a cliff?"

"Well, sure, but I don't _eat_ them!"

Remus shrugged. "Guess that's why you're a dog, and I'm a wolf."

Sirius cocked his head. "Must have been one hell of a night. You're never this… sanguine the day after."

"Nice word choice, Pads. Is that sausage done?"

"I just put it on, Moony. Give it a—"

"Done enough for me." He stood up and headed towards the kitchen.

"Fine, fine. Help yourself," Sirius waved him off but stood as well, looking at his watch. "I'll get the pup."

A deafening crash echoed down the hall! Remus half-jumped—he was too tired to react properly. Sirius walked down the hallway with a sigh.

"Right on time. Bloody kid tries to play Quidditch every bloody morning…"

Remus plucked a sausage off the pan and stuffed it straight into his mouth. It was barely half-cooked, and while the outside was scalding hot, the middle was cold and raw. The raw didn't bother him at all, not this time of the month, and he was too hungry to mind the cold or the scalding. The Garden Room at the DoM could make anything you wanted, even a rabbit to chase, hunt, kill, and eat. But it was all in your imagination. You could smell the hot blood, feel it dripping over your chin, hear the bones crunch and snap…but no matter how much you thought you ate, when you left you found you hadn't eaten anything at all.

Great for dieters, he supposed. Eat your weight in chocolate cake and never gain a pound!

He ate another sausage and began riffling through Sirius' cupboards. A package of heat-and-serve scones was chucked in the oven. He wouldn't trust Sirius to heat an oven—but despite a taste for the rougher side of the culinary spectrum, Remus was a deft hand at cooking spells. He poured another mug of coffee, snatching a third sausage in the process, and took a deep sip just as Sirius stepped out of the nursery. Remus could hear Harry giggling.

Suddenly, Remus' nose wrinkled. Ugh! What was that smell? Had the coffee gone off?

He took a deep whiff. No, the coffee was fi—there it was again! Stronger now. The hair on his neck stood on end. What was that? Rank, vile…familiar…

Sirius stepped out of the hall into the living room, bouncing Harry, but Remus barely noticed.

The wolf stirred, no, it lunged awake within him! All senses went to high alert, as if he were back during the change. Vision sharpened. His ears practically went on point and every hair on his body stood on end. Remus felt his mouth twist into a rictus grin as his head darted back and forth, hunting.

"Moony? What's up?" Sirius asked—Remus ignored him.

The enemy was here! Here! Where? Where was it? What was it?

"Remus," Sirius said again, more seriously, "What is going on?" Sirius had just set Harry down, but scooped him up again, amidst loud protests, and fell into battle stance, wand at the ready, scanning the flat for the threat Remus was obviously sensing. Remus wrinkled his nose and took a step towards the living room.

"I smell something. There's something here, Pads. It's familiar but I can't place it. Something evil…the wolf is going mad…" He trailed off. Sirius spared him a worried glance then returned to scanning the room.

The wolf led Remus out of the kitchen and into the living room—it was so close! He stepped next to Sirius and nearly gagged!

"You! It's you!" Remus whirled away and pulled out his wand, pointing it at his friend—what appeared to be his friend. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"What?!" Sirius growled back, he shifted to block Harry as much as possible and thrust his own wand at Remus. "What do you mean, 'it's me?' Of course it's me, you git, it's my flat!—"

Remus growled low and nearly shouted. "No! You're not Sirius! What have you done with him?"

Sirius's face contorted into a scowl of rage. Sparks shot from his wand. "What the fuck is going on, Moony?! You have ten seconds or I swear I will take you down as a Quad X hostile."

Harry squalled at the shouting and the manhandling and he flailed his tiny fists against Sirius' iron grip around his waist. Remus glanced at the toddler and felt the wolf hone in like an arrow fired at a bulls eye, nearly lunging out of his skin. Had the wolf truly been its own being Remus knew it would have killed the boy instantly. The inner lunge was so sudden, so strong that Remus staggered and dropped his wand.

He straightened, staring back at Harry with wide eyes and suddenly he knew. He remembered!

"Oh, gods…I know what it is…" his voice sounded hollow.

"What?!" Sirius shouted, still holding Harry as far away from Remus as he could.

Remus struggled to get control of himself. He could feel the wolf pulling against him, pacing, wanting to circle Harry like prey. Slowly Remus looked up and met Sirius blazing silver eyes. "I know where I've smelled this before. It wasn't so strong last time, but with the moon..." Remus swallowed. Looking back at Harry, seeing James and Lily both looking back at him—in pain and confusion and crying for help—was more than he could bear. He dropped to the carpet, holding his head between his knees.

He heard rustling as Sirius backed away and settled the sniffling Harry on the couch.

"Are you going to explain or are you going to keep being cryptic?" Sirius snapped. "Because I'm _really_ not in the mood for cryptic."

Taking a deep breath Remus looked up—meeting Harry's tear-filled eyes rather than his friend's accusing ones.

"I know what the curse is—the one in his scar," Remus began slowly.

"It's a Horcrux. Harry is…one of Voldemort's Horcruxes."

* * *

 _Late That Evening_

Fawkes chirped loudly and Dumbledore looked up.

"What? Of course, of course. She would know. Resourceful girl. She is always welcome," he called to the bird. Returning his quill to its stand Dumbledore surveyed the massive pile of books and manuscripts across his desk, two side tables, three chairs and much of the floor. Even this mountain of parchment contained only the barest handful of trace references to things that might, possibly be related to methods of immortality. Dark methods. Ignatius had insisted on his personal involvement now that they had a Horcrux in a living vessel.

Seeing the boy so soon had been terribly painful. Seeing him under such circumstances was bitter indeed. But there could be no doubt: Harry was a Horcrux. Or at least he carried one within him.

Dumbledore hoped, _prayed_ , it was the later.

Half a handful of sorcerers had attempted making a Horcrux—a _single_ Horcrux—in all of recorded history. Only one was known to have succeeded before Riddle. To think the man had made more than one…that explained much.

After spending much of the morning with Harry, Dumbledore had then spent the afternoon getting a very thorough briefing from the DoM team. He'd just begun laying out his research to tackle Harry's problem, but when the Minister calls…

Bagnold pushed through the heavy wooden door. She blinked once at the disarray. Dumbledore stood and bowed his head gravely from behind his desk.

"Minister. Welcome. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He gestured to one of the chairs. The cushion, seemingly firmly attached to the carved wooden frame, immediately flipped over, concealing the documents that had been resting on it and leaving a clear place for the Minister to sit. She ignored it.

"Urgent business, Dumbledore. I need you at an emergency meeting. We're leaving now." She took a step back towards the door. "You can seal all this?"

Dumbledore's mouth twitched in a small smile. "I assure you, Milicent, not a soul can set foot in this room whilst I am not here. But, if it makes you more comfortable…"

With a quick swish of his wand a golden glow passed over the piles of organized chaos covering his office. Though the glow faded almost instantly a prickly feeling pervaded the air. The Minister raised a skeptical brow.

"Not sufficient?" Dumbledore chuckled. "Fawkes, if anyone but me tries to look at any of this, flame them to Vesuvius."

The bird gave a delighted trill and Dumbledore ushered the Minister out. As soon as the door closed behind him a sound like sword closing in a scabbard rang through the hall. The Minister gave him another look.

"I did say no one may enter while I'm gone. Do you think that research is the most dangerous thing in my office?"

She merely rolled her eyes and began striding down the hall. Like Dumbledore, her aged appearance belied her stamina. He didn't even have to slow his stride—on much longer legs—to match her pace.

"So…" he prompted as they left the justice wing of the Wizengamot offices. Though the Wizengamot body sat for legislative and judiciary proceedings, there were clear lines between the Chief Warlock's administration and that of the Minister of Magic. He nodded to his handful of aides as they passed.

The Minister explained in a low, tight voice. "The DoM claims they need hands on the Potter boy, which, considering, I fully support. However, they can't and won't get a minute with him until his _guardian_ is fully briefed on the situation and grants permission for them to assess him."

"Surely, Sirius—"

"Oh, I have no doubt Black will give us his full cooperation. From what I hear he's been in a right state all day. But he isn't the boy's guardian. Yet."

She bit the last word off with heavy finality as they approached the lift.

"Ah," Dumbledore said. "You are expediting the wardship?"

" _We_ are expediting it." The doors opened. With a sharp gesture the Minister emptied the cage, commandeering it for the two Ministry heads and leaving a handful of witches and wizards stranded on the Judiciary floor.

She punched a button and the lift began to move. "Social services can't expedite an official process without due cause _and_ permission from 'the Wizengamot,' so says regulation. We can't afford to drag this before the chamber. For one, we haven't the time. The poor boy needs someone to manage his affairs yesterday, and the fools will take a week just to catch up to what the office as already done."

The lift swung open to the atrium.

"And," Dumbledore said in a low voice, though the atrium was nearly empty, "of course, there is the matter of secrecy."

"Naturally," came the tight reply. "So, we are it. I can't see anyone arguing that with _both_ the Minister for Magic _and_ the Chief Warlock that the Wizengamot was not adequately represented. There's already too much riffraff involved. The Potters were too entangled for my comfort."

She led the way almost angrily down some of the most mundane hallways the Ministry had to offer, at last stopping before a nondescript double door into an almost austere conference room.

The Minister swiftly introduced him to the three social services solicitors, one of whom had just arrived herself. He noted poor Sirius along one side of the table, staring wide eyed at the table top. Harry must be with Molly, Dumbledore guessed. Remus stood with the DoM cohort: a tall woman with dark red hair and the shadow shrouded man Dumbledore knew to be Ignatius Prewett. Remus looked slightly ill but perhaps more focused than anyone else in the room.

The solicitor for the Potter's estate was present, though he had signed off on the wardship as soon as he'd read the will. Two other wizards were present as well, though Dumbledore did not know them or their association to the case. A questioning look at the Minister revealed them to be representatives of business interests in which the Potters had had very large stakes. They didn't legally have a right to comment on where Harry ended up, but they _did_ have a right know—and to know things were handled fairly, which meant they couldn't be closed out of something as mundane as a wardship hearing was supposed to be.

The Minister tapped her wand on the table and a soft gong rang through the scattered conversations.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," she began. Another tap and a roll of parchment appeared in her hand. "For our first order of business I require each of you to sign this parchment. This is a vow never to speak of what is discussed here today except in total privacy with those present. As the document details, you can only be released from this vow by direct permission from the sitting Minister for Magic, the Chief Warlock, the Head of the Department of Mysteries, or Harry James Potter—once he is of age. Such permission is void under coercion. Breaking of this vow will alert authorities immediately."

There was silence as the parchment was passed around. Really, only the Potter's solicitor and the other two business representatives needed to sign, as everyone else already knew, had permission to reveal the secrets anyway, or was already bound by even stronger oaths.

Just as Madam Brown passed the parchment back to the Minister the doors flew open.

Gasps echoed around the room!

Dumbledore felt his brows try to climb up under his hat.

Three figures filled the doorway radiating power, much the way Dumbledore himself could when roused. Three such figures rarely appeared in company, especially not these three, and _especially_ not in a mere conference room in the social services wing of the Ministry. The superbly tailored robes and glittering accessories made the room and its occupants appear dingy and common. Only Dumbledore's spangled garb stood up to the comparison.

Flanked by his cousins Pollux and Cassiopeia, the former thin and gnarled with age, the latter stern and regal, Arcturus Aldebaran Black appeared every inch a lord entering his own audience chamber. The infamous solicitor, Clyn Taft trailed behind them, taking in the room and everything in it with a glance.

Arcturus tapped his cane on the floor and smiled. Several eyes swept briefly to Sirius, who eyed the newcomers warily. "Evening, Gentle Wizards, Gentle Witches," Arcturus began pleasantly. He gave gracious nods around the room, while Pollux and Cassiopeia glared at everyone as if mortally affronted. "We do apologize for our late arrival. Apparently our owl got lost in the blasted weather."

Though his voice was pleasant, several people shifted nervously. It had been a gloriously sunny day all across England. With another rap of the cane he led the party along the table to stand behind Sirius.

"Hmm, seems we need a few more seats." He rapped his cane on the table and it immediately expanded to either side of Sirius. Four more chairs popped into existence as well, two on each side of the Black heir. They were monstrous chairs, heavily carved and heavily upholstered. With another tap Sirius' chair transformed into one just like them. "That's more like it!"

Arcturus gave a jovial laugh as he settled next to Sirius. Pollux took the other seat by Arcturus while Cassiopeia and Taft took Sirius' other side.

The Minister cleared her throat. "Yes. Well. Welcome." She flicked her eyes to Sirius and then to Dumbledore. Technically, the meeting was closed except to those invited due to their position or connection to the Potter family or to Harry's…situation. Unless Sirius objected she had to assume their connection to him warranted their presence. Dumbledore gave her the barest hint of a nod.

"Thank you, Minister," Arcturus said. "Do carry on. Where were we?" He looked brightly around the table.

With a flick of her wand the Minister sent the parchment floating over to him. "If you could each sign this first? We are dealing with highly sensitive—"

Arcturus cut her off with a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "Bah! What a good joke!" He tossed the parchment aside. "Now, down to business. You are all here—"

"Hang on!" the Potter's solicitor, one Nigel Hammington, objected. "We've all had to sign the oath, Black. Don't think you can just barge in and wriggle out of yet another—"

"What?" Pollux thundered. "What gives you license to insult a Lord of the realm?"

"Now, Pollux," Cassiopeia said calmly, though she also glared at the offending wizard. "I'm sure he didn't _mean_ to be insulting."

The poor man puffed up like a blow fish. Before he could open his mouth, Dumbledore coughed.

"Gentleman, and lady," he inclined his head to Cassiopeia. "Let us be civil. We are here to settle a simple matter of procedure. My Lord Black, surely you can see the necessity of protecting the secrets of the Department of Mysteries?"

Again, Arcturus chuckled. "Are we here to discuss the Department of Mysteries, Dumbledore? No, we are here to discuss the future of one young wizard. A wizard anyone with any brains at all can see will very, _very_ soon be a ward of _my house_. And! Should anyone _use_ their brains, unlikely as that may be, they will surmise that—without fail—when the boy goes to Hogwarts his sorting will happen much earlier up the line than it would have before the unfortunate events of that occurred a fortnight ago. We are then talking about the second heir apparent of _my house_. And as any knowledge that the Department choses to reveal tonight can only have direct bearing upon said heir and therefore upon _my house,_ they will thenceforth be _my secrets_. I'll be damned if I sign anything swearing to protect my own damn secrets."

Pollux nodded fiercely. Cassiopeia stared down her nose at the room as if daring anyone to give reply. Poor Sirius was staring at his grandfather in horrified awe.

Arcturus cleared his throat. "And naturally as pater familia of the _Noble and Most Ancient_ House of Black I permit per my discretion Pollux Cygnus Black, Cassiopeia Elladora Black, and our solicitor Clyn Edward Taft, to witness our no doubt fruitful enterprise this evening, giving their most valuable advice as they see fit. None of them will sign your silly oath either."

He coughed and added lowly— _almost_ under his breath, "quite frankly I don't see why half the rest of you need be here at all."

There was a long silence. Finally, Dumbledore rose slowly from his chair. The air thickened. For over a generation he and Black had stood opposed on nearly every issue to come before the Wizengamot. Their rivalry was something of a legend.

"Thank you, Arcturus, for stating your opinion so clearly," he said pleasantly. The room took a collective breath. "With your permission, Minister, Madam Brown, I move that we proceed with tonight's meeting."

The two witches nodded. As Dumbledore sat the Minister moved to stand.

"Bah!" Arcturus cut in. "About bloody time. Let's cut to it, shall we? Pollux!"

He gestured grandly and Pollux rose nimbly to his feet. Though normally hunched with age, the warlock now stood erect. He spoke with heated arrogance. "The boy in question, one Harry Potter, son of the honored Lily and James Potter, Order of Merlin, suffers from an extremely rare and dangerous curse inflicted upon him by the upstart, so-called 'Dark Lord Voldemort.' This curse requires immediate and ongoing care at the hands of the most knowledgeable, experienced, and rational of wizardkind. It is infinitely beyond the skill of any of _you_ , and certainly beyond our _dear_ colleagues at St. Mungo's." The sneer indicated exactly how highly he esteemed the mediwitches and Healers at the hospital.

"And who's hands are you proposing?" Nigel interjected fiercely. "Yours?"

"Naturally," Pollux sneered at the man.

Dumbledore frowned. Clearly, Pollux knew the identity of the curse. But how?

" _Sir_ Pollux," Cassiopeia interjected coolly, "has the most experience and by far the deepest knowledge of this curse of anyone in all of Europe."

Dumbledore couldn't help but cock a brow. The man was unequivocally a knowledgeable and skilled Dark wizard, and powerful enough for the title warlock. It was indeed possible he possessed a knowledge of Horcuxes. But could he be trusted? He'd never been convicted of any crime that Dumbledore was aware of, but that was hardly the same thing.

Madam Brown cleared her throat. "I for one should like to know precisely what sort of magic we are dealing with. What is this curse?"

Most of the table looked to the Unspeakables, though Dumbledore and Bagnold kept their eyes locked on the Black contingent as Pollux retook his seat. Poor Sirius went positively grey, but he too looked to the Unspeakables.

Arcturus gestured graciously for the Unspeakables to take the floor.

The woman leaned over and whispered urgently with the shadowy Ignatius. At last she stood. Her voice was warm and direct. "The Department has revised its decision and chooses not to reveal the curse in question. It is our opinion that those who need to know already do," she shot a calculating look at the Black family. "This knowledge, in fact this curse itself, are an integral part of an ongoing Department of Mysteries endeavor. We require frequent and ready access to Harry Potter and full cooperation from his guardian. Harry's safety and the safety of the wizarding world require it. But we cannot waste any more time. The wardship must be decided tonight. We will require Sirius Black's full cooperation."

Madam Brown rose as she retook her seat, but Taft broke in ahead of her.

"My client's only requirement is to act in the best interests of Harry Potter. The Department of Mysteries may make their case to Master Sirius once the wardship is decided."

Dumbledore noted a look shared between Sirius and Remus.

Sirius cleared his throat, glaring at Taft. "I will cooperate with anyone who can help Harry," he said definitely.

Ignatius' shadowy figure rose. Even the Blacks eyed him warily. "Though it is…surprising to learn that _Sir_ Pollux is an expert on the curse in question, in this case we believe such knowledge strengthens the suit of Sirius Black due to his close association with _Sir_ Pollux. We will be very interested in any assistance _Sir_ Pollux can provide. The curse itself in no way affects Black's suit other than warranting an immediate resolution."

Ignatius resumed his seat and Madam Brown nodded. "Very well. Give us a moment…" She turned to her two colleagues. One, a willowy blond, waved her wand to produce a _Muffliato_. Dumbledore could never decide if he should commend Severus or curse him for inventing that spell…

After a brief and furtive conference the blond witch canceled the spell and all three stood. Around the table chairs scrapped back as the rest of them stood as well.

"We have reached a decision. Two actually. With the permission of the Wizengamot, represented by Minister Bagnold and Chief Warlock Dumbledore, we are prepared to close the wardship of Harry James Potter immediately. What say you?"

She looked at Dumbledore and the Minister. "Granted," they chanted on top of one another.

Madam Brown nodded, satisfied. "Permission given, we approve the suit of Sirius Orion Black in the wardship of Harry James Potter." She gave Sirius a warm smile. "Congratulations, Master Black. Harry is very fortunate. You will need to bring Harry by our office tomorrow. Our paperwork is blood sealed. Also, you will need to visit Gringotts as soon as possible—with Harry, mind—to get access to his Trust vault."

Sirius looked about to fall over. Dumbledore suspected Cassiopeia's sleeve hid a steel grip holding the lad upright.

"Well," Madam Brown continued, "that concludes our proceedings. Thank you all for coming on such short notice."

She sat and spoke lowly to the younger of her two companions. The other, the blond willowy witch, slid a parchment towards Dumbledore and the Minister. "If you could both sign this please?" Ah, the official document of their approval of the expedition. "I will forward you both copies of the minutes."

"Please do," the Minister said sharply, her eyes on the Black contingent.

Arcturus stood amid boisterous boasts about the proceedings. All bluster, Dumbledore knew. The man pulled Sirius from his chair.

"Come, lad! You need a drink. Then Taft will see you home with the boy. Cassie! See to Pollux!" With that Arcturus turned sharply, hand gripping Sirius' arm, and all but dragged his heir out the door, stopping only briefly to shake hands with the social services team. Pollux opened his mouth to shout after his cousin but Cassiopeia laid a gentle, yet commanding, hand on his arm and swept him from the room just as effectively.

"I'd thought to congratulate him," said a voice at Dumbledore's elbow. He turned to find Remus staring after the departing figures with the thoughtful expression. "But I'm not about to get involved with that crowd."

"You may have to," said Ignatius, coming up beside Remus, still shadowed. His voice was distorted as well, as if heard through running water.

Remus merely nodded. He was acclimating well to his new role.

"He is taking Harry's condition very hard. Removing the wardship question ought to help," Dumbledore said. "I hope he doesn't let them corrupt him too far."

Though no one could see Ignatius' face to read his expression, Dumbledore could feel the man's brows go up. "Even blackthorn's have their beauty, Albus."

"They do indeed," Dumbledore said with a slight bow, turning to leave. "And their uses."

He walked back to his office rather than call Fawkes. He needed to think. Was there a danger in letting the Black family get their hands on Harry? He had no grounds to prevent it, not now, certainly. And there was some truth in the fact that their expertise could prove useful in helping the boy—if they cooperated. If their motives could be trusted. James would never have stood for it. Lily would be content so long as he was safe, cherished, and brought up well—and there was a good chance for all of that. But it made him nervous, nevertheless. He still wished to know how they had found out. Sirius could have told them, of course, but he very much doubted that. Dumbledore knew he would never be able to trust them. Any of them, he thought sadly, remembering Sirius ushered out in their custody.

Vigilance. That was what he would need.

As an old friend said often, "constant vigilance."

* * *

The group that settled into the posh lounge was much more subdued than the group that had left the ministry conference room victorious. Pollux had been ushered home to a warm foot bath. Sagacious and powerful he might be, but the man still got stiff joints after a stroll through the garden.

Harry was at the Burrow, again, and Sirius felt like he had been lost in a daze all day. Morgana bless Molly! Apparently Harry and Ron got along quite well. Sirius hadn't told her about the Horcrux.

Taft slid a short, cut-glass tumbler before Sirius.

"Scotch first," Arcturus rumbled, seriously.

Even Cassie had a tumbler of the amber liquid.

Arcturus held up his glass. "To Harry, the new ward of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!"

The other three each took a measured sip, and Sirius nearly upended his glass.

"Easy, boy," Arcturus said, not unkindly.

"How did you know?" Sirius croaked, looking at his glass.

He felt the three share a look. At length Taft coughed. "Prudy."

"The elf?" Sirius asked, looking up.

Tafts lips twitched in a hint of a smile. "Indeed. She was so scandalized when she saw you last week she's been popping over every morning to tidy up your flat. I take it you never noticed? Thought not. And of course she checks that both you and Harry are well." He held up a placating hand. "None of us told her to. It was entirely her choice. She didn't tell me anything about it until this morning. Apparently she's grown rather attached to Harry—and to you, Sirius. 'Stray pups,' she called you. Seems she's usually in and out before you are up, but of course, she didn't know about Lupin."

"So she overheard…"

"She did." Taft sobered up. "Apparently she was on the point of stepping in to protect the two of you when things resolved. Naturally, she came to me immediately. You couldn't possibly think I would conceal such a thing from your grandfather?"

Sirius flicked his eyes between the two wizards. Taft was so devoted that sometimes Sirius thought….well, no matter. "Course not."

Arcturus nodded. "Pollux is correct, Sirius. He has made an extensive study of all methods of immortality."

Sirius scoffed. "He would."

"Now, Sirius," Cassie interjected, laying a hand on his arm. "Don't be too hasty. You know even less of Pollux than of Arcturus."

"He's an angry, bitter, old sorcerer too wrapped up in his pride to care that someone might legitimately think differently than he does," Sirius snapped.

Arcturus banged his glass down on the table. "Grow up, boy! Don't be such a child. You have no idea how serious this situation is. None at all! Pollux may be Harry's only chance to live and _you_ cannot afford to dismiss a single word he says. None of us can."

He sent a very serious look at Cassie. Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Why? What's going on? Why do you lot suddenly care so much about a Gryffindor pup?"

Cassie snorted. "Ever the snotty-nosed brat. Even on the brink of disaster you hold to your childish prejudices."

"Harry Potter," said Arcturus with a heavy sigh, "is a scion of one of the most powerful wizarding lines in Britain. None too famous or wealthy, to be sure. But ancient! Very ancient. In another time, a House like ours would have offered wardship as a measure to peace between our House and the Potters, a way to keep our disparate families from warring with one other. Naturally, they would be granted a ward from our House in return, a lesser son of a lesser branch no doubt. Nevertheless, it is an _honor_ , a great _privilege_ , for the House of Black to take on such a ward, even if he is a half-blood."

"Oh, but his mother was so very talented," Cassie said warmly. "Very promising, with a bit of guidance, I'm sure."

"And that is before all the prestige from her defeat of the Dark Lord," Taft added.

Arcturus acknowledged Taft's point with a deep nod.

"So he's a pawn to you? A shiny badge to add to your lapels?" Sirius snarled.

"Calm yourself," Cassie said soothing. "You asked why we would be interested. ANY house with brains would be interested in that boy as a ward! But that is hardly all our motivation."

Arcturus frowned at the table top, tapping a thick finger against the side of his glass.

"Sirius, my boy, our House is facing a potential crisis. Your generation has been decimated by this war. And the world is changing. We must change with it. Too long it seems we have held to old ways. There was a time when a wizard could choose his path freely. Great achievements in any arena would reap bountiful rewards. But society grows thicker, more connected, less divided, more intent on peering over everyone's shoulder. Neither wizard nor muggle fears the shadows of the woods anymore, and dark and terrible magics no longer need offer protection from such nightmares. We may not like it, but survival demands adaptation. The pendulum has swung again, away from the glorious Dark magic of our traditions. If we are to survive the next century, we need a clear line of inheritance—and!—a new source of direction. You can give us that. Harry, coming from a bloodline of nearly opposing tradition, may do even more."

Sirius felt bewildered. "Wait, are you saying you're leaving Dark magic?"

Cassie scoffed. "Hardly. It's too late for any of us to change so drastically. But your magic is barely set. Harry's has hardly burgeoned, if it has at all. You will provide balance, both during your lifetimes and more balanced direction for future generations."

Sirius nodded, still skeptical. He turned to Arcturus. "You called Harry your 'second heir apparent.' I didn't think wards could inherit."

"They cannot," Taft answered.

For a moment they all looked at Sirius as if he were missing something enormous.

"Sirius," Arcturus said at length, "Harry will need a father."

"James is his father," Sirius retorted.

"James _was_ his father," Taft replied. "James is dead."

"He's still Harry's dad! I'm not going to replace him. I couldn't possibly—" Sirius snarled.

"Then you would deprive Harry of a father for all of his life?" Cassie cut in.

"What?! No—"

"Harry will have no memory of James, Sirius. He will know only what you tell him, but he will need a father that he can touch, speak too, and learn from. If you push Harry away in James' name—in some vain attempt to preserve James' memory—he will see it as rejection from you. He could easily come to loath the father he never knew for abandoning him and for preventing you from accepting him. Give it time. A few years, at least. But know that eventually, for the good of you both, you must step fully into James Potter's place." Cassie delivered this incredible speech with a cold voice. Only the warm grip on his arm belied the frigid exterior.

Sirius put his face in his hands. "Adoption. That's what you're talking about." He felt the nods though he didn't look up. "Oh, for the love of Merlin!"

"No, Sirius," Arcturus said gravely. "For the love of _Harry_."

Sirius glared at his grandfather. "I find it hard to believe I'm hearing you lot talk about love."

Arcturus snorted. "Just because you were too young and self-absorbed to see that it's possible to love someone you disagree with doesn't mean it _isn't_ possible. Or true."

Taft was shaking his head sadly. Cassie glared at him with cold eyes.

Sirius rubbed his hands through his hair and growled low in his throat. "Fine. Whatever. What's the plan for Harry? You lot obviously have some scheme cooked up with Grandpapa. I'm not surprised he knows about the most evil curse known to man. How many Horcruxes does _he_ have?"

Cassie swelled like a balloon. "None, you ignorant child! Pull your fingers out of your ears!" she hissed like a wounded snake.

Sirius gave her skeptical look. "Why not? I always thought—"

"Phaw! I have yet to see evidence you even have a brain inside that thick skull. You've certainly never used it." She seemed about to say more but snapped her mouth shut and looked away.

Sirius looked at the two wizards, confused. "So…why didn't grandpa make a Horcrux? I mean, if he's such an expert…"

Arcturus snorted and tossed back a healthy swallow of scotch. "Pollux never wanted to be immortal, son. It doesn't take much living to realize immortality would be a special kind of torture."

"Then why—"

Arcturus thunked his glass down and glared at Sirius. "If you kept your mouth shut once in a while, boy, you might actually get answers to all your damn questions! Gryffindors! Bah! He did it for Irma, of course. She was never the same after Cyngus was born."

Cassie shook her head sadly. "Worst childbirth I've ever seen—that didn't kill a witch. She was lucky to have survived."

"Lucky," Arcturus said darkly. "Perhaps. I've often wondered if it'd been better if she hadn't. The first two weren't picnics either."

"Wait, wait," Sirius interjected. "You mean the old codger spent all those years looking for ways to keep _grandmother_ alive forever?"

Both Arcturus and Cassie huffed. "He would have settled for just 'alive,'" Arcturus finally said. "Cygnus was what, nine when she passed?"

"Ten," Cassie corrected. "Her last years were not pleasant."

Sirius stared around that table, feeling like he'd stumbled onto a new continent. It was unthinkable! Pollux had always hated him, loathed 'that damn lion,' as he had called Sirius. A feeling Sirius had been happy to return with interest. Of course, he'd never met his grandmother. "But…he didn't find anything?"

"Oh, he found plenty," Arcturus snorted. He continued to tap his thick fingers on the table top. "Even after Irma passed he was obsessed with finding the answer. He rarely spoke about his research, but I gathered he dismissed the Horcrux in early days."

Sirius rubbed a hand over his face. He was so tired! A hand on his arm made Sirius look up again. Cassie was becoming quite familiar.

"Sirius, these are dark days for you. We _will_ defeat this Horcrux. We will _not_ allow it to harm Harry or anyone else. You _will_ be able to raise him to be a great wizard, one to do James and Lily proud. We are not your enemies in this."

Arcturus huffed. "Or in anything, I should think!"

Cassie didn't even glance at him. "Tomorrow you must begin the battle against the Horcrux. Pollux will guide us, but _all_ of us will assist you. For tonight, however, you must collect Harry, and take him home. I will come and stay with you tonight, and tomorrow we will begin preparations."

Sirius looked up at her with narrowed eyes. "Preparations for what?"

There was a moment of shared looks and clearing of throats. Finally Arcturus spoke.

"For your move to Castle Donerth. It is time for you to come home."

* * *

 **A/N: Huzzah! The next chapter is going to be so fun, guys! I can't wait. Hopefully, it won't take as long to finish as this one did. Remember to feed the Muse! (psst! That means leave a comment!)**


	11. Coming Home

**Disclaimer:** Obviously I don't own HP. Thank you JKR for everything!

 **A/N I'm so excited about this chapter! I've been working on some of these scenes for a loooooong time! Please enjoy!**

* * *

 _Late Friday, November 13_

The flat was packed, the boxes gone. The wardship was sealed for good and Harry was settled for his last night in the London flat. Last for a while, at least. Sirius insisted he would never give it up entirely. They'd left Cassiopeia, or Madam Black, as she had insisted Remus address her, doing needle point by brilliant lantern light. She seemed oddly delighted to take on the role of baby sitter, though Harry had been sound asleep for hours before they'd left.

Before them the house was an empty ruin.

Remus glanced occasionally at his friend, but waited patiently. Sirius would go in when he was ready. At one point Remus would have sworn Sirius was on the verge of transforming. Difficult emotions were easier to process as a dog, or so Sirius claimed. Remus suspected that habit may have contributed to Sirius' tendency to view the world in black and white.

Perhaps it was the creak of the gate in the wind that jerked Sirius out of is reverie. Perhaps it was just time. He suddenly swung the gate open and passed through the wards, entering Godric's Hollow for the last time. Remus followed a few steps behind.

The Ministry wanted the house preserved forever as a shrine, but Sirius had dismissed that suggestion. Let them build a monument in the square or something. With a few repairs—okay, some major repairs—the cottage could once again be a beautiful little country get away. Harry might want it someday. For now though the blasted roof was a testament not just to the chaos of the last two weeks, but to the eternal scars left on their lives.

Sirius entered the house, expecting to feel…something. Loss? Pain? Sorrow? He'd half expected to have an emotional breakdown. Instead he felt…hollow. The emotions were there, but they felt far away.

He walked down the entry hall, almost trying to relive that night, trying to bring up his shock, fear, grief, to embrace and process it all. Few scars remained on the walls of the spells James and Voldemort had exchanged. It all seemed so distant, like a faint echo that he couldn't touch. Their wand light illuminated a pristine, nearly sterile country cottage, devoid of all signs of any real life. The house had been emptied, of course. He'd had to oversee that the first week. Every personal artifact was packed carefully away in the Potter Vault. The only thing he hadn't had to oversee, fortunately, was the removal of the bodies.

At the end of the hall he paused at the base of the stairs. The railing had been repaired. No sign remained to mark the place where his friend had died.

In the nursery, beneath the cold stars watching through the open roof, he could swear he saw a shadow where Harry's blood had stained the carpet. _I'm imagining it. The cleaning crew were House Elves. Blood on carpet wouldn't even slow them down_.

His guest room was so empty and clean he barely did more than peek inside.

Even the attic was swept bare.

Finally Sirius stood in the door to James and Lily's room. Like the others it was bare, barren even, but he could imagine the shadows of where their bed had stood. Over there, the wardrobe. Against that wall, Lily's vanity. An overstuffed chair under the window for James to read in—Quidditch magazines mostly. James waved at him over the top of the magazine…

Sirius blinked, dismissing the vision, relieved to finally find his eyes wet. He took a deep, shaky breath.

There was nothing of James and Lily here. They had passed on. The house was well and truly empty.

Footsteps on the stairs warned him of Remus' approach. Sirius turned sharply from the empty room devoid even of ghosts for him to bid farewell to.

"Let's go, Moony."

Remus stopped near the top of the stairs. "If you're ready."

"I am. I came to say goodbye, but they're not here. They've left us behind."

Remus nodded. "They moved on."

"Indeed," Sirius stepped past Remus and led the way down the stairs. "It's time I did as well."

He heard Remus following. "Death is only the next big adventure, so Dumbledore says. He ought to know, if anyone does."

Sirius nodded as he took one last took around the living room. In his mind it was bright, warm and cozy, full of life and laughter. The cold, empty reality felt like a mockery. Sirius snorted.

"Prongs can't have all the adventures. You've got yours. It's time for me to start mine."

He strode from the house.

* * *

 _Saturday, Mid Morning_

"I thought they said he'd be here by 10?"

"Maybe he's not the most punctual type. He'll be here. Lord Black said he would, so he'd better, if he knows what's good for him!"

A chuckle went up around the men standing outside Keith's pub. The cobbled street had been lined with all the townsfolk for near half an hour already.

Keith, standing on the top step into his pub, could see over the crowd and shushed the men as cloaked figures walked grandly into town from the fields, wands held high in the air.

He slapped the shoulders of the men in front of him. "Nearly time now. Here they come! The Castle'll be out in a minute."

All heads turned with expectant awe to the bay. Near a mile into the bay rose a sad hill of weathered rocks, slick with moss and lichen and riddled with crevices where the tides had cut it away over the centuries. As the wizards approached the waves, however, the hill melted _up!_ It grew to impressive proportions, rising above the bay to form a small, flat-topped mountain. The moss and lichen expanded and grew into a beautiful covering of verdant foliage. Strange twists in the rocks became cottages lining the base of the mount. The few, scraggly standing stones on the plateau bulged and burgeoned until the hilltop was covered by a magnificent castle stretching from one end of the isle to the other. Even as far as the village you could see the beautiful pathway paved with obsidian that climbed back and forth up the mountain connecting the castle with the cottages below. Where the obsidian road met the surf there was a mighty rush as the bay was thrust aside and a wide, ornate stone bridge rose from the waters.

A handful of resplendent figures began a stately parade across the bridge, Lord Arcturus at their head.

Cheers broke out all down the thronged thoroughfare. Normally, even the villagers couldn't see the castle, being only Muggles. But on rare occasions the Black retainers would make _absolutely sure_ that no outsiders could interrupt and then the veil would drop. When the bridge appeared, the villagers could even cross over and visit the Lord in his own castle if they had a grievance.

After the figures on the bridge came others overhead on brooms: the family's honor guard. They swooped over the crowd in intricate, weaving formations. Whenever they passed overhead, the cheers broke out again. St. Targell children were known to dream of riding broomsticks—no horses or racing cars for them! At the village fair there was usually at least one witch or wizard giving rides.

Just as the Family reached the end of the bridge a loud roar over powered the cheering crowd. Heads whipped around to stare at the road leading outside of town. Surely, no Muggle motorcycle could break through the wards, could it?

"Up there! Look! It's flying!" a young voice cried. Faces lifted and there was a collective gasp!

A black speck came hurtling from the sky at outrageous speed, resolving into a magnificent motorcycle just before it hit the pavement. No sooner did the wheels touch down than the motorcycle went into a long, sideways skid that lasted the entire length of the street. It finally came to a stop a mere dozen yards from the Family, spraying them with a cloud of dust.

None of the dust settled on them, of course. It wouldn't dare.

The stillness of the crowd was broken by a joyous shriek.

"Again, Pa's! Again! Again!"

Only then did the crowd notice that there was a _sideca_ r on the motorcycle!

The driver swung lithely off the hulking machine and swept off his helmet. The man beneath was fair handsome enough, Keith supposed: thick dark hair, pale complexion, sturdy build. The women in the crowd seemed pleased. The leather riding outfit certainly fit him well enough, though it made Keith shift uncomfortably.

The figure swept a _much_ smaller leather-clad passenger from the sidecar. The child squealed in delight. Pulling off the child's helmet the man revealed a toddler with messy, black hair. Not merely dark, but truly black.

Overhead the guards flew by in formation showering the crowd with sparks, signaling to anyone still entertaining doubts that this, indeed, was the Heir. The crowd broke again into cheers! Banners were waved and children played all manner of instruments to add to the general cacophony. Over the noise rose a few distinguishable words, "Welcome! Welcome home!" "Black! Black! Black! Black!"

Sirius looked over the cheering crowd. He felt torn between amazement at the welcome, amusement at the blatant adoration of his questionable relatives, and pride at the serious flaunting of the Statute of Secrecy. These were clearly Muggles, staring a castle and contingent of wizards full in the face and _cheering!_ Perhaps it was childish, but the warm welcome felt…good. Almost as good as winning a Quidditch match.

Turning from the crowd he faced his family.

They stood at the foot of the bridge waiting with reserve. Castle Donerth rose majestically behind them, a symbol of all his life held in store. Of all they offered him.

Sirius took a deep breath. Only a few weeks ago he had thought to never see any of them again, had thought he didn't want to. Yet, in his darkest hour they had stepped forward, leaping back into his life like a hurricane, offering him not only support, but unimaginable influence and power. Power to help Harry, to save the only part of his old life that lived on.

Slowly, deliberately, he walked forward. The crowd stilled. He nodded respectfully to each family member, ending with Arcturus.

"Grandad," he said with a slightly deeper bow. He was a bit hindered by Harry riding on his hip, but the gesture was unmistakable.

Arcturus leaned forward, forcing Sirius to bend over, and kissed him lightly on each cheek and once on his forehead. It had the weight of an ancient ceremony, and in fact, Sirius felt the mild tingle of old magic sweep over him and out through the village and beyond.

Arcturus stepped back slightly and tapped his throat with his wand.

"The Heir has come home!" he said gravely.

He waved Sirius forward. Sirius stepped up to his side and turned to face the crowd as it once again roared approval and welcome. This time the Family members raised hands in acknowledgement—not quite actually waving.

"You'll have to go greet them in a minute," Arcturus said quietly. "Try to learn a few names. They're good people."

Sirius nodded. He glanced over his shoulder, examining the hill behind him. "Hm. Not much of a castle, Grandad. I don't see a Quidditch pitch."

Arcturus snorted, still waving to the crowd. "Don't be ridiculous, boy. There's a professional stadium not two miles west. A stadium we built. We own the Falmouth Falcons, remember? Use it whenever you please."

Sirius blinked. "We own the—we do?"

Arcturus laughed and turned back to the crowd, shaking his head.

Sirius stood, dumbfounded, for a moment. He turned to Harry, who was blinking at the crowd. "You know, pup, this might not be so bad after all."

* * *

 _Sunday, November 15_

Emptiness.

Void.

Darkness.

Nothing.

They were not thoughts. River could not afford thoughts. He was nothing. Not even present. Unaware of his surroundings or even himself.

He floated, drifted, motionless. He was nothing.

Meaghana's tea made the trance state easy to maintain, which was good since any effort towards maintaining the state would break it.

Words seared across the nothingness, brighter than white, brighter than the sun itself. Slowly, stroke after stroke rent the darkness. Yet it seemed the whole thing came at once, complete and entire. Letters larger than planets, seen or perhaps felt, perhaps merely known.

 _Tom? I am frightened. I daren't tell the others. Death feels so close! Do you fear death? Can a book die?_

River let the words be. He did not read them, think them, acknowledge them. But they rolled over and through him just the same. He did not think this was excellent. It was, but he did not think it.

In a similar way a flood of images arose around him, over him, through him, within him. Images, memories, voices, phrases, items and scenarios. He did not see them, feel them, or let himself be aware of them. He merely let them be.

Slowly the images sorted themselves, some fading away, some growing stronger, as if some mind were sorting through them. Most were discarded instantly. Some seemed to float away only to stop on the edge of being.

Several images featured various children with wide eyes. Some showed a young but familiar face—though not familiar to River—likewise frightened, but in these the fear itself caused a ripple of revulsion and terror through the void. Images of towering professors, of Muggles, of cliff sides and crashing waves, snakes creeping in the darkness, tunnels closing in overhead, a massive presence over a shoulder—that one carried a far stronger sense of anticipation, as if the presence both was and was not imminently dangerous. A ring. Faces of students, children, wizards, full of admiration or pride— _Fools!_ A statue, a crown, a map… _Immortal…Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction…Master of Death…_

The first set of words ceased to exist. Or had that happened earlier? More words rent the universe.

 _I am not alive, and so cannot feel fear._

That was a lie. A fear so strong it was nearly hatred echoed through the void. This hand was less precise and betrayed the writer to have been muggle trained. The last images began to fade away: the ring, the map, and the presence of death that was mingled with excitement were the last to go.

 _You do not trust your companions?_

A hook to bait a fish.

 _I dare not! Trust is for fools. They would turn on me, Tom! I know they are jealous. What can I do?_

The conversation continued. This was the fifth such since River had entered the diary three days ago. Twice 'Tom' had drawn Jayden inside and walked him through a memory. River could feel how directed the memories were. Many details were out of focus, particularly further away from the figure of Tom—young Riddle—who Jayden was meant to follow. Though the figure could not interact with Jayden, or at least did not, River now knew that the real mind of the diary observed and directed these excursions. Jayden had not tried to wander from the directed memory. Not when that could have led to both of them trapped in the diary forever. There was too much they didn't know still, or hadn't known before River entered the diary.

… _let me show you._ Tom finished

A hole opened in the sky, revealing Jayden's olive skin and dark hair, his face larger than a giant's. In the blink of an eye that seemed to last for eternity, Jayden was pulled through the hole.

The void melted and dissolved to become a stone corridor. Young Tom had just finished climbing a vaguely familiar set of stairs and was walking briskly down a deserted hallway. Not deserted! A smaller figure was just disappearing around a corner ahead. Jayden followed Tom in pursuit. River did not follow. He did not watch. He did not recognize the hallway; he would have to be aware of it first. And River did not exist to be aware of anything.

Tom rounded the corner and sighed as a wooden door melted into the wall on the left. He began pacing before the vanished door muttering under his breath. As he turned back towards the way they had come a prefect badge gleamed on his chest.

"I need to find Benson. I need to find Benson. I need to find Benson." The memory Tom was calm, resigned, fraternal. An older brother stepping in to stop some foolishness before it got out of hand. That was what Jayden would see.

After he poured all these non-memories into a pensieve to observe them, River would notice that mind of the diary filtering through a dozen casual thoughts strongly at odds with the calm young man pacing the hallway—now opening the wooden door.

 _None of them knew._ Professors faces drifted across the void outside the memory. _Only the ones, the few. The desperate and clever._ Students' faces now, often blurry, as if he hadn't cared who they were, only what. _All mine! No one will find…_ the statue flickered faster than a heartbeat, but stronger than a supernova… _Under his nose…_ Dumbledore, piercing blue eyes, at once bigger than a mountain and small as a rat. _Let him see! Lure him in. So close!_ The mind was focused on Jayden again.

As Jayden looked around the towering piles of generations of discarded and abandoned possessions—books, furniture, brooms, jewelry, pictures, rugs, candies and Fanged Frisbees— for a brief moment he flickered, It was so fast, so sudden! The memory Tom was talking with a younger student, possibly second year, speaking sternly yet gently. The mind of the diary however flashed forward and snapped at Jayden like a whip during that briefer-than-brief flicker.

A sense of supreme satisfaction glowed through the void and the mind of the diary preened like a panther who'd just caught its meal.

A tiny wave of worry threatened to rise in River. He did not ignore it. He did not exist to ignore it.

The memory began to fade. As it dissolved the void was rent open once more. Jayden began to stretch as if pulled upwards. As Jayden's torso began to lift, before his feet left the floor, a string, thinner than spider silk, stretched back from his shoulders into the void.

Suddenly River was! He was aware. He remembered and knew and felt and saw and WAS.

He felt the mind of the diary blink in shock. It was aware of him as well.

He moved, though he had no body to move and there was no space in the void, he moved to grab Jayden's shoulder in a grip like a vice. A grip both physical and beyond physical. He had hold of Jayden's soul as well: his ride out of the diary.

At the same instant—time both stretched beyond imagining and so short everything happened on top of itself—a dagger appeared in River's hand. He had no time to feel relief that he was right, that he could force some things to be or not be in this world of memory and mind and soul. The hilt solidified in his hand.

Jayden stretched upwards, his feet barely beginning to lift from the last molecules of the stone hallway.

The mind of the diary reached forward to grab hold of them in hands that size of castles. Hands that were not hands but forces.

River swung. The string snapped!

The mind of the diary lurched and the hands closing in on them were snapped back is if hit by a hurricane.

Jayden's head reached the rent in the void and his legs sprang upwards to catch up, dragging River with him.

* * *

Meaghana jumped up with a small—very small—scream as Jayden flew backwards from the diary and his chair crashed to the floor.

On a cot against the wall River's eyes flew open. He immediately sat up and began emptying memories into the pensieve on the side table. He seemed perfectly fine, though Jayden was groaning and holding his head.

"What happened? Are you alright?" The first she directed at River, somewhat accusingly. The second she aimed at Jayden as she helped him up.

"I don't know," Jayden said. "He showed me a room in Hogwarts full of junk. And then he tried to… I'm not sure what it was. A link of some kind?"

"A life link," River said flatly. "We cannot go back. Not this way. He nearly had you and I was discovered at the end."

Meaghana gasped. "A life link? How do we—"

"I took care of it," River interrupted. His attention was still on the pensieve. He was pouring a _lot_ of memories into it. "I meant to follow you out in any case, but I had to sever the link and he became aware of me."

They nodded, frowning.

Meaghana returned to her plush seat with a sigh and conjured three oversized tea cups. "What now, then? I see you collected quite a bit. Do we have what we need?"

River pulled another silver thread from his temple and tapped his wand on the edge of the pensieve.

"More than. But I am not finished with this _Riddle."_

Meaghana's hands froze in the process of handing Jayden a bracing cup of tea. She had never heard any feeling beyond wry amusement from River.

"Oh?" Jayden said. He was also staring at River in surprise.

River turned to them, this stoic face twisted ever so slightly in a smug, dangerous expression. "I mean to get every drop from this horrid thing and then to destroy it. You two must come in with me but we will need another to act as an anchor outside."

He rose and waved them to follow him from the room. Jayden sealed it as they left.

"Carmichael will do for an anchor," River continued. "And I know a rune circle to hold the diary in stasis. After we force it to open, between the circle and the anchor, he won't be able to trap us or throw us out. If you can brew more of that tea, Meaghana, I believe we can use it to make the memory more ...cooperative."

"And then you want to destroy it," Meaghana said. "Fiendfyre again?"

"Oh, no. I have something much more appropriate in mind." His grin was really becoming quite feral. He stopped suddenly and looked at them both intently. "How much do you know about basilisks?"

* * *

 _Monday, November 16, Early_

 _My Dear Augusta,_

 _I am pleased to know your family has weathered this great storm. The Longbottoms are a stanchion of Wizarding Britain and have done us all proud._

 _As you know, Sofsam is hosting our biannual tea at the Marchioness on Wednesday. Now that the storm is passed we must begin to rebuild._

 _I would be pleased if you and dear Alice could join me. There is a task I wish to discuss with you._

 _Your friend,_

 _Cassiopeia Black_

"Alice!" Augusta called, rising stiffly from her chair. "Alice! Where are you, girl?"

Her daughter-in-law appeared almost instantly in the doorway of the drawing room, distractedly trying to put on a pair of simple earrings while Neville tottered after her howling over some toy.

"I'm right here, Mother. And I'm late. What's the matter?"

August strode forward, waving the letter. "What on earth have you done?"

"What are you talking about?" Alice replied with an exasperated sigh.

"The _Blacks!"_ Augusta cried. "Madam Black just sent this, inviting us to the Sofsam tea on Wednesday. She mentions you specifically. Now, what have you done?"

Alice grabbed the letter and read it swiftly. "What on earth is Sofsam?"

"The Society for the Future of Saint Mungo's, of course! I repeat. What. Have. You. Done?"

Alice bent over to Neville, deftly repaired the troublesome toy, and Neville returned to his play. She sent Augusta a fierce glare as she straightened, though it bounced right off. "Why must I have done something? She's free to invite whoever she likes. I, however, will be at work. Unlike some—"

"Oh, no!" Augusta interrupted. "You cannot possibly wiggle out of this one. If I have to call Crouch myself to have you excused, I will do so! Today! Now, _what have you done?!"_

Alice huffed and put her hands on her hips. "I've never even spoken with—"

"Of course you've never spoken with _Madam Black!_ As if you would? But you did something to a Black, and recently, or she wouldn't even know your name! Now, you will tell me every single less-than-perfectly-savory encounter you've had in the last ten days or—By Merlin—I'll use veritaserum on everyone who's so much as seen you walk by!"

Alice growled and threw up her hands. "Fine! I had a falling out with Sirius. He asked me to watch Harry last week but then he brought along his cousin's girl, too—"

"How old?"

"Uh… eight? Maybe nine?"

"And you said?"

"She's the niece of Bellatrix, Mother! I told him I won't be having any of his dark relatives around Neville, and I certainly won't be babysitting them. I will not have my son exposed to Dark witches and wizards—"

Augusta flung up a hand. "Morgana preserve us! How much of that did you say out loud?"

Alice blinked then drew herself up. "All of it. I mean it—"

" _In public?!"_

This time Alice shifted uncomfortably. "There was a _Muffliato—"_

"You foolish girl!" Augusta cried. She began to pace around the drawing room. This was a disaster! "Bellatrix's niece…. Not _Nymphadora_?" She paused and sent a piercing look at Alice.

"I really don't remember—"

"Try!" Augusta insisted, nearing panic. "If rumors are true, that girl is a _prodigy._ They will _never_ forgive us!"

"Well, Sirius called her Dora, if that helps. Now, I really have to get to the office." Alice turned to leave but Augusta shot her wand out and the door to the drawing room slammed in Alice's face.

"No, Alice. You are not leaving this room until I know _everything_ about your blunder."

Alice turned from the locked doors, her face a thunderhead. "Do you really suppose to keep me locked in here? Against my will?" Her wand shot from her sleeve into her hand.

"Child, you cannot fathom the trouble we are in. Trouble you have caused! Do you want Neville to go to Hogwarts? Do you want to keep your job? Or _Frank's_ job? This could turn our reputation into so much hippogriff dung! Our Family could get kicked off _the List_ for an insult like this! And _in public!_ If we do not repair this damage, every door— _every door_ —in society will be slammed in our faces for a generation."

Alice rolled her eyes. "Oh, please! I can't have a disagreement with an old war colleague? No one is that powerful. I refuse to believe that just because someone got a few feathers ruffled over who I choose to associate with, that a respectable family with a golden reputation, with two known warriors for the Light, would be—"

Her voice suddenly disappeared. Augusta walked to within a foot of Alice.

"Now you listen to me and you listen well, or I will hand in your resignation myself and lock you in the cellar until you come to your senses. If we do not fix this you will find your reputation, and Frank's, and mine, suddenly worthless. Your intentions will be questioned everywhere you go. Merchants won't sell to you. Your officers will not promote you. You will be on _desk duty_ until you have _grandchildren._ Neville won't be invited to Hogwarts. He'll be in a blasted London _trade school._ Your past exploits, and Frank's, will be worthless. Our name will be worse than mud until _Madam Black_ decides we have paid sufficiently for the slight against her family. So, we will go to tea with Madam Black and you will be the absolute embodiment of decorum and the very spirit of generosity while I try to rescue us from the brink of this disaster."

She stepped back, letting out a tight breath.

"Now," she continued, "you will tell Scrimgeour you'll be late today. Then you will sit down here and you will tell me _every word_ of your conversation with Sirius Black."

* * *

Not seeing a bell, Remus knocked on the gigantic black door of the castle.

A panel of the heavily carved door shifted into a solemn face set permanently in a state of dignified boredom.

"Welcome to Castle Donerth, How may I help you?"

"Remus Lupin to see Sirius Black."

"Hmmmm. Lupin. Do you have an appointment?"

Remus blinked. "Not officially, but he did ask to —"

"I'm very sorry, but Master Sirius is terribly busy. If you could send an owl to his secretary to arrange an appointment? Good day."

The face began to melt back into the wood. Remus pounded on the door again. This was not an auspicious beginning.

"Hold on a minute! I'm his friend and he did ask me to come by—"

"Without an appointment, it's not possible."

Remus whipped out his DoM badge. _I'll give you an appointment._ "See this? That's right. Ministry business. My intent is to come as a friend and I'd really prefer not to blast down your lovely enchanted doors, but if you don't let me in to see Sirius right now this little beauty will blow you to splinters. Now, Open. This. Door."

* * *

"What is the meaning of this?" Cassiopeia said loudly. She hastened down the grand stairs, trying to interpret the kerfuffle at the front doors. A scruffy man was in the entry hall confronted by Gorgio. The presence of all three footmen instantly told her that the intruder had somehow bullied his way past the doors.

The newcomer looked up, clearly annoyed. Ah, now she recognized him: the wolf.

"Mr. Lupin," she began, "I understand that in the past you have been rather free with your friendship with my nephew, but from now on—"

"Remus Lupin is welcome anywhere I am, anytime, for any reason what-so- _bloody_ -ever," a stern voice interrupted.

Cassiopeia turned to see Sirius striding around the corner into the hall. He planted himself in the center of the hall, staring them all down defiantly.

"Now, Sirius," Cassiopeia said calmly. "With your new position in the wizarding world you must being to show some care for who you associate with. This man—"

"—is my brother, Aunt Cassie. _My brother_. Two years ago, I had four brothers. A month ago, I had three." He looked back at Remus, then back to his great aunt. "Now, I only have one. Riddle took the others from me. I strongly suggest you not try to take the last one."

He gave her a look of such menace she nearly stepped backwards. This boy had taken to authority _entirely_ too quickly! After a moment he turned from her and faced Gorgio. "Let it be known that Remus John Lupin has Guestright at all Black properties for which I have Master's privilege."

Gorgio sent a quick glance at the wolf, which was enough to indicate his skepticism. However, he nodded graciously to Sirius. "It will be done. Welcome, Master Lupin, to Castle Donerth."

* * *

Sirius led Remus through the Castle, picking up Harry in the gorgeous, fantastic nursery, and then ending in a somewhat dim drawing room. They found Pollux standing erect on the carpet next to the hearth. He examined a pocket watch.

"Two minutes ahead of schedule. That will do," was all he said by way of greeting.

He turned and immediately seemed to shrink. He hunched slightly over a cane and settled into a stiff wingback chair. Sirius and Remus settled themselves facing him. Pollux frowned at Remus.

"I am not in the custom of reporting my doings to the Ministry," he said gruffly.

Remus cocked a brow. "If it helps, consider me an insider on your behalf. My first priority is helping the boy who is both the son of a dear, late friend, and the godson of my greatest friend living. As far as I'm concerned, the Department comes second in this endeavor. Though, to be clear, I will not conceal information pertinent to our task, nor will I betray the trust of my colleagues."

Pollux snorted, but regarded Remus with somewhat less of a glower. He turned to Sirius.

"I hope you are not in a hurry, boy. This will not be a quick task. It may take weeks, even months to form the very faint beginnings of a plan, possibly years to implement one. No Horcrux has ever resided in a living vessel. It is uncharted territory. What I said at the hearing is true: I am his only hope. But there may be little that even I can do. A great deal is yet to be learned."

He held up a gnarled hand. "But! We shall learn it, and we shall devise a stratagem to remove the Horcrux, if such a thing can indeed be done." He coughed. "Under normal circumstances, if there are normal circumstances in the realm of Horcruxes, doing so is impossible." He sat up straighter. "But, it would not be the first impossible thing I have accomplished."

The old man broke off into a terrible hacking cough that seemed to go on forever. Finally he thumped his cane on the floor and shouted aloud to the room, "Tea! Hot!"

He then looked sharply between Sirius and Remus.

"I will have to do a number of tests on Harry. Most will require nothing but his presence. Some may be uncomfortable. Some will require parts of him: drops of blood, a lock of hair…" he waved his hand vaguely. "Nothing of concern. Nothing I do will harm him permanently. Well," he coughed, "we are in uncharted waters. Nothing I plan to do _should_ harm him. We cannot know how the Horcrux will respond. But the Horcrux cannot survive without him, now that it has chosen him as its vessel. The Horcrux spell itself ought to lend him a measure of invulnerability. I doubt it is capable of doing lasting damage to itself any more than we are."

"Wait," Remus interrupted, "if we can't do any lasting damage to it, how can we get it out of Harry?"

"Ah, you see our conundrum?" Pollux said dryly. "Took you long enough. The only way to destroy a Horcrux is to destroy its vessel beyond all possibility of repair. Nothing less will even scratch or dent it. It is possible the Killing Curse could destroy this one, since the vessel lives, though I am not sure. It is possible the Horcrux could survive even in a corpse. Fiendfyre would do, of course. Perhaps basilisk venom. But anything less, I suspect, will not harm the boy in the least. Drop him from the roof, toss in him a fire, poison him...I doubt it will even make him sneeze."

Sirius gave a mirthless laugh. "He'll be a hell of a Quidditch player. Bludger to the head? No problem."

The old man chuckled, though it turned into a long hacking cough. A house elf appeared with a _POP_ bearing a gleaming silver tray of tea and biscuits.

"Pinwyth is sorry for making Masters wait! Milly is refusing to rush the biscuits for Masters."

In a blink the elf poured tea into three china cups, adding lemon to one and milk to another, and handing them out. Sirius noted that Remus' cup had a brighter red hue compared to his own. Different flavors of tea from the same pot, huh? Clever. The elf bowed.

"Masters is enjoying tea! Masters is calling Pinwyth if you is needing anything." He popped away.

Pollux took a deep draught from his cup. He both grimaced and nodded in satisfaction. "Bah! Where were we? Yes. You!" he pointed at Remus. "Have you skills to offer? I doubt it. Or are you merely here to spy on our progress?"

Remus took a stately sip, refusing to be flustered by the warlock's brusqueness. "I am here to help Harry. Of course, I must also keep the Department apprised of our progress, but in turn I can offer you the full resources of the Department. Any ingredients or artifacts you need which we possess are freely available. One of my colleagues is an expert on the soul, and another was part of Grindelwald's inner circle. Of course, I can't claim his knowledge of the Dark Arts—"

"I know who you mean," Pollux waved him off, though he tapped his chin thoughtfully. "It may be….prudent to seek his counsel. We shall see."

The warlock took another drink, studying Remus. "Well, Mr Lupin," he said, setting the cup aside. "I think I can see you as something of an asset, albeit a poor one. I will _not_ limit my work to your schedule or convenience. I will proceed as, when, and where I deem necessary. Sirius can keep you informed of our progress, should you be absent. But I shall allow you to observe, perhaps even to assist, on the rare occasion."

Remus smirked. "That is very kind. I am also a—"

"I know what you are." Pollux reached for his cup again.

Remus arched a brow. "Did you know I can smell the Horcrux?"

Pollux blinked, but that was all. He turned to Sirius. "Let us begin. Tell me everything you have observed. Anything new in the past two weeks…"

* * *

 _Tuesday, November 17_

This cannot happen! It cannot! I am the greatest sorcerer alive! I will be the greatest to ever walk the earth! Wizards will tremble at the sound of my name—

A chuckle echoed through the darkness. "Are you ready, Riddle?"

The darkness moved. Riddle felt the invaders withdraw. He tried to move, to see, but he was still bound. It was impossible! How could you bind what wasn't material? Yet he was most assuredly bound fast.

No—one of the invaders remained. He felt him. The darkness swirled. The unseen gap back to the physical world shrank, but did not vanish.

"Ready to die?" the voice added.

The darkness swirled into towering columns cloaked in shadow. Riddle's bounds melted and he fell—he shouldn't have even had a body, and despite the columns the diary had no space or gravity unless _he_ made it—yet, he fell, landing in a heap on a damp stone floor. It was too dim to make out details, but he knew where the intruder had brought him. How he knew—it didn't matter. This, of all places, was _his!_ No one could defeat him here!

The drips echoing through the cavern had an almost musical quality, yet sinister. And the gloom was a strange, sickly blue, not the comforting green the chamber had in life. He brought to mind the cavern as it was. As it had been, and must still be, awaiting his return. To his consternation the gloom remained blue and the sinister dripping continued to echo maddeningly. It was his mind! How was this possible?

The chuckle approached from the darkness, indeed from where Riddle knew the statue of Salazar reared overhead in the real world. "It is possible," the voice said, "because I am smarter than you."

For a brief instant Riddle felt as a rat might feel as a snake circles it, but he shook away the sensation. It wasn't possible!

"Oh, but it is," the voice continued. "This is a world of minds, dreams, and souls. The intelligent, the self-controlled, the disciplined… _the pure_ , they have the power in such places. They always have the power."

The darkness lifted just a hair, revealing the figure of a man, not even as tall as Riddle, wrapped in a dingy cloak that stopped well above his ankles. He stood ten feet away, between Riddle and Salazar.

"You deluded fool! Do you know who I am—"

"Voldemort?" he interrupted. "The infamous, bungling, _late_ , so-called 'Dark Lord?'" The man began to circle around and Riddle mirrored his movements, maintaining the distance between them. "Who's followers are scattering, turning themselves and their fellows in by the droves? Who was defeated by an _unarmed Muggleborn?"_

"Lies!" Riddle screamed.

A force slammed into him making him stagger back. It vanished almost instantly but a hurricane could hardly produce winds that strong.

"Did you feel that, Riddle? That was Truth. A thing you have ever undervalued. You have so tormented yourself that even here in a world of your own creation, within your own mind, you are a weak, powerless, creature."

"Silence, dog!" Riddle snarled, though he felt a cold sweat beading on his neck. He was now between the man and the statue of Salazar. "I will end you!"

The man gave a mocking bow, arms spread wide with the palms up invitingly. "Oh, please try."

Quivering with rage, Riddle hissed into the darkness. _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!_

Nothing.

Riddle whirled around to look at Salazar. The statue stood, unmoving, though the mouth gaped open.

That dark chuckle rang through the cavern.

 _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!_ Riddle hissed again, louder. When nothing happened he whirled back around, trying to pierce the darkness in the chamber and find his greatest weapon. _Serpent! Where are you? Your master summons you! You WILL obey me!_

A disapproving clucking made Riddle look back at the man. He was shaking his head sadly.

"Such a waste. How could you abuse his gift so dishonorably?"

Riddle's brain ground to a halt. This could not be… it was impossible! The man was speaking—No! It was impossible!

The man raised his arms and spoke again.

"You are pathetic. Powerless. Evil. And, above all, foolish. Anathema to everything Slytherin held dear. It is my duty, my _privilege,_ to destroy you."

"You can't…" Riddle said, barely breathing. Though nearly frozen in fear he managed to take a stumbling step backwards.

A shape reared behind the man, accompanied by a familiar rustle of scales across wet stone.

"Oh, but I can. Even in your memory, Vasylius' character remains true to life. You owe him a debt, Riddle, for abusing your gift to your own ends, as you owe me. Your debts have now come due."

The gigantic head pushed forward into the brighter gloom and though the eyes remained hooded, the crest flared and the fangs opened, dripping venom to the floor beside the man.

 _No!_ Riddle hissed _. You cannot obey him! I am the Heir of Slytherin! I am your master. You must obey ME! Kill him! KILL HIM!_

The serpent came around the man, gliding slowly towards Riddle, clearly not in the least impressed.

"The Heir of Slytherin?" the man chuckled again. "Perhaps, but you are hardly the only one."

 _Or did you think you were the only Parselmouth?_ Even the laugh came out as a hiss, and Riddle could no longer pretend the man spoke anything but Parseltongue, indeed he had been speaking Parseltongue almost from the beginning. _You were never the only Parselmouth—just the only one stupid enough to try and control the King of Serpents without considering his wishes. Or his orders_.

Riddle's back hit the statue of Salazar. _No! Kill him._ he hissed feebly.

 _Vasylius!_ the man shouted, spinning to face the serpent. _I swear on our Father to rectify the wrongs you have suffered, to restore you to your post as he intended. As you desire, so may you feast._

The man spun away, cloak swirling about him as he melted into the darkness and was pulled away.

A glimmering golden beam filled the cavern as the hoods began to lift over Vasylius' eyes. Riddle screamed and turned to cling to the feet of Salazar Slytherin. A monstrous voice echoed through the chamber, through Riddle's very soul.

 _I am avenged!_

The basilisk struck.

* * *

"I am avenged," River said softly as the last screams of the Horcrux died away.

Thick, black ink leaked from the smoldering remains of the diary, seeping like blood across the rune circle he had drawn on the table.

He stood, face uplifted, palms raised; a reverent posture, appropriate for this moment.

The weight of loss fell like a boulder from his soul, vanishing into nothingness. The relief of it washed over him, turning his breath into shallow gasps that were nearly sobs. Free! At last he was free! _They_ were free…

"River…" Meaghana's voice brought him back to the moment. The room was crowded with Carmichael's team. The scream must have brought the others. All looked at him, some wonderingly, others proudly. Tiberius bore a calculating expression.

"Please," he said seriously, "would you all raise a glass with me?"

He waved his wand and a bottle of light, sweet wine appeared on another table—not the one covered in blood—along with eight glasses. This blend was not his favorite, but it had been hers. Lupin, bless him, started pouring.

As he received his glass River took a deep breath. "In the early days of the war, I was newly married. Lizette's dream was to be a wandmaker. She had such artistry! She took leave in the last days before our daughter was to be born. She was shopping for Christmas presents. In her bag they found a man's scarf, a stuffed kitten, and fresh holly sprigs for our flat. It was Riddle's third public attack."

He trembled, remembering her body. Riddle had not used the Killing Curse so freely in those days and the scene had been…messy.

"They tried to save the babe, but…She died in my arms."

He raised the glass, marveling as it caught the light. Like liquid sunshine.

"Today, I am blessed with vengeance for my family. Today, my soul is at peace for the first time in fifteen years. Let us raise a glass to Lizette and Isabel Sayre, to lives lost in war, and to peace. May no other man suffer the torment I have suffered."

Silently he blessed Morgana for the understanding, the pride, and the lack of pity his fellows showed. They raised their glasses.

"To peace!"

* * *

 _Dear Cousin,_

 _The diary is destroyed. Furthermore, we have removed all possibility of the return of its former owner, thanks entirely to the information you generously provided on my last visit. You are to be highly commended. Or you would be if even this made up for your wretched resume._

 _I hope this news brings you some comfort. I doubt we shall meet again for some time—a great deal of time—which may also bring you comfort._

 _In light of our potentially prolonged separation, I leave you with a provoking question._

 _What would you have done if he had demanded your son instead of the Potter boy?_

Lucius' pulse rushed in his ears. The racing, echoing thud of his heartbeat drowned even the rain lashing the windows. The paper nearly slipped from numb fingers.

He could see it all in his mind, played out perfectly like some ghastly Muggle film.

The Dark Lord strode through the manor doors, accompanied by Bella and Rudolphus—no, it was Dolohov—no, the Carrows. The companions flickered in his mind's eye, becoming every Death Eater he knew, even Greyback, or all at once. Who it was didn't matter. Lucius welcomed them warmly, bowing only just so, as befitted his rank among the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord was calm, pleasant. He asked after Draco.

"Where is your son, Lucius? I wish to see him."

Several answers flickered across his lips in the vision. "In the drawing room—the gardens—will ask Narcissa—the nursery." Normally, he would have no idea where to find the child. He had no notion how he spent his days. Surely one of those places? Regardless, he readily gave the information.

"I wish to see him. Lead us," the Dark Lord said. Calm, even pleased.

Lucius watched, almost horrified, seeing his own ready smile and bow. "Of course, my lord."

He led them confidently through the house. Not far. A room. The nursery—the conservatory—the garden. The vision settled again on the nursery, a room Lucius had barely seen. The door swung open and thudded against the wall.

He entered and stepped aside for the Dark Lord to follow. A ghostly pale, elegant hand rose over the crib—a child playing on the floor—a child in his nurse's arms—the details did not matter. The hand rose.

Was that a wand or a knife in the Dark Lord's hand? Or did one of the others wield it at his command?

Even in this waking nightmare Lucius was frozen. He could not move—could hardly breathe. The hand fell. Thud!

Was there a scream? His own—no, tragically, not his own. Narcissa's? The child's?

Tiny eyes as clear as crystal stared sightlessly—no, blood covered the pure white nursing gown—no, the small body was twisted—

Lucius wrenched himself back to the present. He was shaking. The note, now a crumpled mass, fell to the floor unheeded. He wheeled, unsteady, and reached for the bottle on the side table. He didn't know what it was. It didn't matter. His hands shook so much he poured more onto the table and carpet than in the glass. Narcissa would be—

An image of Narcissa, screaming, horrified, clutching a small body—no, scrabbling to get past Bella to reach the body—lunging to pull the boy from the Dark Lord's hands; Narcissa standing in front of the doors—the cot—the child; Narcissa with her wand raised, shouting, defiant, between the Dark Lord and the child; Narcissa, robes clutched high in one hand as she ran, racing the very wind, clutching the child … Narcissa staring at him with more loathing than he could comprehend. Except he did comprehend it.

He shook loose of the nightmare again and tried to drink but choked on the burning liquid. Spiting and gasping he tossed aside the glass. It thudded to the floor and rolled against the baseboards. He stumbled into a nearby chair and leaned on the back to steady himself.

It was true. Merlin damn him, it was true! Even had the Dark Lord asked outright, the end would not have changed. He would have stood by at best; at worst, handed over the child himself. The scene played over and over. A thousand ways the Dark Lord came and asked, demanded, for his son. And a thousand times he did nothing to stop it. Nothing!

This…this was who— _what_ he had become. What he had made of himself in service to a monster.

A gust of wind whistled through a crack in the window. The child… Draco. He had to see Draco.

He stumbled through the house to the nursery. Fumbling with the latch he finally pushed the door open. He looked around the unfamiliar room and found the crib. The nursery lights were barely lit and almost no light came through the windows. He hadn't known the child went to bed so early. Even so his son's hair glowed—silver blond, soft as angel feathers, spread across the pillow like a halo. Beneath brows almost too pale to see, dark lashes brushed round, cherub cheeks, flushed with sleep. The small chest rose and fell in a steady, gentle rhythm. An out flung hand, tiny and pudgy, looked to have only recently released the paw of a stuffed rabbit.

Though the first panic had passed, his heart still thudded loudly in his chest. He was sure it echoed off the walls.

His son. A mirror image of himself—precious, precocious, intelligent, irreplaceable, and utterly dependent.

A rustle of fabric followed by a sharp gasp announced the arrival of his wife. By Morgana, she was beautiful! Lacy nightdress, satin dressing gown, beaded slippers… golden hair braided and tied off at her waist. But her expression was wary, nearly angry.

"Lucius!" she hissed, stepping quickly towards him. "What are you doing?" Her gaze flickered from him to the crib. Of course! He'd never entered this room before and certainly never stood over their sleeping son.

His son!

He took a deep, ragged breath.

"I had to see the—" he paused. Draco. His son's name was Draco. "Draco. I had to see him."

Narcissa stepped closer. "Why?" she asked with great reservation.

Lucius shook and he felt Narcissa tense even more. "Merlin protect me, Narcissa," a harsh sound, almost a sob broke from his chest. "Morgana burn my soul, I wouldn't have stopped him. I wouldn't even have tried!"

He didn't even notice the tears leaking past his own, tawny lashes. "I would have led them straight to him. Stood by, smiling and bowing and stupid!" His cultured language failed him. He crumpled over, leaning on the side of the crib, clutching the rail till his knuckles popped. He tried to be quiet, to not wake the sleeping angel, but it was all he could do to keep his knees from buckling.

A tentative hand rested on his shoulder. "What are you talking about?"

He could hear the fear in her voice.

After a deep breath to calm himself he straightened, brushing the wetness from his cheeks. "If he had come here, instead of after the Potters, if he'd come for our son, instead of theirs. Zounds! I am such a fool, Narcissa! The biggest damn fool in all of Britain. And a coward worse than that damn rat!"

Lucius's fist thudded against the crib rail. Narcissa's hand tightened on his shoulder. She may have been clutching him out of shock, or anger, or fear—likely all three. Blessedly she said nothing. Blessedly, Draco slept on.

For several minutes they stood there; Lucius hunched over the crib, fists clenched on the railing. Narcissa clutching his shoulder, tense as a pillar of marble at his side.

Finally, he straightened, though his shoulders remained bowed. Staring down at the sleeping, angelic boy, he gathered his courage.

"Cissy, may I hold him?" he asked timidly.

When her hand fell away he looked up and met her incredulous eyes. Another thing he'd never done. At least, not when it wasn't a necessary piece of showmanship. By Morgana! He'd never simply held his own son!

"Please?" he croaked.

Narcissa blinked slowly. He couldn't remember ever saying that to her before, not even when he proposed. Silently she nodded and stepped up to the crib. Gently, delicately, she scooped Draco into her arms. Lucius was nearly blown away by the loving gaze she directed at the child.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she settled Draco into Lucius' arms, guiding his hands.

A warm weight settled over Lucius. Draco turned his head in sleep, nestling further into Lucius' chest. A tiny hand unknowingly closed around a loose strand of hair that had snaked over Lucius' shoulder.

In the stillness Lucius realized he could feel Draco's heartbeat, a soft staccato, faster than his own. Yet, even as he marveled his own thudding heartbeat slowed and steadied, keeping time with Draco's, though at half the pace.

Deep inside, perhaps in his very soul, Lucius felt a final, ringing thud. The last nail in the coffin of the man he had been. He closed his eyes, breathed in the smell of his son, and mentally gave that nail an extra whack for good measure.

Never again! Never again would he sacrifice this, or overlook it, or brush it aside, or by his very negligence threaten its utter destruction.

Tightening his arms around his son he felt himself sink to the floor. Even as Draco's sleeping face was buried in the crook of his neck, Lucius buried his own face in Draco's, and wept.

* * *

 **A/N: Chocolate for everyone! Lots of men growing up in this chapter. For the record, Lucius is not now magically a "good guy." He's a complex man, like the rest of us. Let's just say he won't be signing up to follow any more Dark Lords. He's still an arrogant ass, but he will probably be a better father to Draco and husband to Narcissa.**

 **I can make no promises about when the next update will be. Feed the Muse and it'll happen sooner! I also recently realized that I have nearly 60K words on this story already! Yikes! That's an entire novel. That being the case, I will probably not continue this past Christmas/New Year's Eve 1981. Gasp! So close! If life allows, and if the Muse gets enough food (hint hint hin!) I may do a sequel someday with the Hogwarts years and the interlude between this story and that. Seriously guys, the interludes are going to be awesome! So yeah, please feed my Muse. That means leave comments! Tell me what you love!**


	12. Happy Hunting

**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter or anything connected with it. JKR is the Queen of Everything!

* * *

 _Wednesday, November 18_

"I have thoroughly dissected the memories from the diary and identified three targets," Celestia summarized. "The Room of Hidden Things in Hogwarts, the Gaunt Shack, and the Cave. We have little to go on as to what might be in these places, but they were of interest to Riddle, and therefore must be of interest to us. There may be Horcruxes in one or all of these places, or just clues, or perhaps nothing."

"Or perhaps some very nasty traps," Jayden interrupted.

"I would say 'likely,'" Celestia responded, not missing a beat. "I have also determined that he had an unusually specific interest in the Diadem of Ravenclaw, so that is added or our list of ancient artifacts possibly turned into a Horcrux."

"Assuming he managed to find it," Meaghana commented.

"Naturally. Based on what we know of Riddle's character we can make some assumptions about these places. If anything was left at the Shack, it was likely done so at a very early stage. Protections might be relatively primitive, but perhaps even more dangerous. The Room of Hidden Things…well, needle in a haystack doesn't even come close, and we don't even know what we might be looking for. That one might be the biggest challenge."

"And the cave?" Lupin asked. He eyed the map on the parchment surface in front of him.

"I am least sure of the cave. It is the most likely to have nothing, in my estimation. If however it does contain anything, I would expect that to be the equivalent of his dragon guarded castle. He was demonstrably careless with some of his Horcruxes, so it stands to reason he was confident that if they were destroyed, he would still be safe. Wherever we find the last Horcrux we can expect it to be the hardest to get to."

The team perused her notes for another minutes, some sipping coffee with thoughtful or troubled expressions.

"Thank you, Celestia. Very thoroughly done." Carmichael raised a cup in her direction then spun to face the rest of the team. "So, scouting missions. Who wants what?"

"I will take the Shack. Tiberius, if you would be so kind…" Ignatius stood abruptly and headed for the door. Tiberius rose more slowly, nodded to the group, and followed.

Celestia raised a hand to Carmichael. "If I may…? I recommend River and Lupin for _both_ the other targets. As we are not at all sure what we will find, we need to send those best at reading magical signatures; River's experience is unparalleled, and Lupin, I would guess, is a near match by virtue of his lycanthropy. Also, River needs to speak to our basilisk friend and see him reinstated as a school Guardian."

"Done," said Carmichael with a nod. He spun and looked between River and Lupin. "Will you require any additional assistance?"

River raised a brow towards Lupin, who shrugged.

Celestia nodded. "Since there are student lives involved, I suggest you start with Hogwarts. The Cave isn't going anywhere."

Remus and River nodded and left to prepare…whatever they needed. Carmichael approached as she gathered her things. "And have you given any thought to this 'last Horcrux?'"

Celestia slowed, thinking. At last she sighed. "I must conclude that Harry is the last. I'm sure Riddle must have meant to make one that night and so had already done the preliminary spells. His soul was primed and ready to break apart again on top of already being fragile from past Horcruxes—imagine! Horcruxes, _plural!"_

"So you don't think it was intentional? Using a living vessel as a shield to keep us from destroying it?"

Celestia raised a brow at her superior. "You're asking me to legilimize a wraith who isn't even present."

Carmichael waved a dismissive hand. "But what do you _think_? You know him better than anyone by now."

She sighed. "Hmmm, I'd guess it was not intentional. For one he is unable to truly believe that people are unlike him, even Dumbledore. Under the surface motivations others may display, Riddle believes everyone to be as ruthless as he is, merely less capable or somehow inhibited. He would never be convinced that we wouldn't simple incinerate a living vessel the same way we would any other artifact. _Someone_ would do it. Mad Eye probably would."

Carmichael chuckled. "Sacrifice for the greater good. Yes, that's possible. Go on?"

"Well, for another, a living vessel has its own risks. If it were an animal, say, he could turn it into a familiar as well and then have near complete control over it, perhaps even use it to spy places he couldn't get to himself. But a human? The natural soul could decide to fight him. Who knows? The Horcrux might decide to sacrifice itself, or simply get itself killed through stupidity or dumb luck. It's far too risky. Riddle likes to be sure."

Carmichael nodded absently. "Say, Celestia, how would Legilimency work with two souls in one body?"

Celestia felt her eyes widen. "Interesting thought. I don't know. I'll have to think on it."

"Do. We may have to get past Old Pollux to let you have a go, but it might be worth it."

Celestia snorted. "That old bat. He's such a tease. Too bad the rest of his family isn't up to his level."

Carmichael smirked at her. "Well, maybe I'll set up a meeting. I might send Tiberius along. The two might get along quite well."

Celestia laughed. "Of course! Like dropping a potassium pill in a glass of water. Tea and a show; sounds perfectly droll!"

* * *

 _300 miles north_

"And this is why there were no wards," Ignatius said, crouching at the edge of the circle. Across from him, Tiberius nodded. Both held hands and wands over the object on the floor. A perfect circle surrounded the ring in which the dust was noticeably thinner. "You are sure it is only the ring? Not the stone?"

"I am certain, as are you."

"Very well," Ignatius replied. A flick of his wand and a piece of the floor snapped up to form a steel clamp, holding the ring upright. Another quick check…no wards or traps triggered yet. Good. Good. "Be ready."

He sent three surgically precise severing charms at the setting around the stone in quick succession. The ring shuddered, but the soldering was broken. He floated the stone free.

Ignatius stood, slipping the stone into an inner pocket. "Would you like the honors?"

The dark giant raised a brow, but nodded. Ignatius turned and strode from the shack. Tiberius joined him atop the hill a few moments later.

Ignatius looked pointedly at the large column of smoke rising over the hedge. Judging from its size, Tiberius had taken out the whole shack and the surrounding meadow as well.

"Taking things a bit far, wouldn't you say?"

The grim face turned and regarded him. "You are a great wizard, my friend, but you have seen less of evil than I. Were our places reversed, you would have burned the hedge and half the village as well."

Tiberius turned and walked slowly to a secluded apparition point. Ignatius looked back at the column of smoke. Sirens sounded down in the village, though they would find the fire burned out when they arrived.

"Fair enough," Ignatius said, following his friend.

* * *

 _Foolish humans! Now you die—!_

 _Hold, great Vasylius! In the name of Slytherin, I bid you hold!_

Before them a massive figure materialized from the gloom. Even from his peripheral vision River could see the plumes raised in warning. Drips of slime and smoking venom dripped to the floor of the cavern before them. In the darkness beyond their vision he could hear the great body thrashing.

 _You speak the Tongue. Another traitor come to enslave us! We will not be used again!_ The mouth gaped wide, exposing rows of dagger sized teeth.

 _No, great one. Never!_ River said quickly. Motioning the others to stay back he took a step forward. _Great wrong was done you by the one called Riddle. Great wrong was done to Hogwarts and the dream of our Great Father, Salazar, your master, and mine._

Beside him Lupin and McGonagall stood rigid, wands lowered but gripped tightly. He heard Lupin gulp.

 _O, great Vasylius, will you hear me? I ask that you veil your gaze that we may approach as equals and not as enemies._

There was a long pause during which River and his companions scarcely dared breathe.

 _Very well. Look, if you dare!_

River relaxed and glanced up. Indeed, the inner lids were down, shielding them from the deadly stare, though he could see the shadow of the slitted pupils in the glow behind the lids. "It is safe. He has veiled his gaze."

Lupin let out a long breath and looked up. McGonagall still seemed rigid and frozen. River glanced aside to see her staring straight at Vasylius with wide eyes.

"Headmistress?" River whispered. "Are you alright? Do you wish to go back? There is no shame in returning now."

McGonagall blinked at him and then back at the looming serpent, head still poised as if to strike. To River's astonishment she suddenly strode forward.

"Serpent!" she called sharply, "Can you understand me?"

The great head swung sideways, jaws gaping wide. _What is this? Another serpent master? How many are there among these later days? Must I be a slave to all?!_

 _No,_ River said even as McGonagall answered herself.

"Not a slave."

River looked at her wide eyed. Since when could she understand Parseltongue?

She continued. "I am not a Parselmouth, Serpent. When my friend speaks I hear only noise, but you I understand. It seems you can understand me as well. Do you know how this is possible?"

Vasylius lowered his head and slid forward, coming within a yard of the Headmistress. He flicked his tongue at her and slowly slithered around, examining her from all sides.

 _You are something I have not encountered before, something new. Yet you are old, nearly as old as I. How is this possible? Who and what are you, woman?_

"My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I am the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchc—"

 _Head Mistress? You are the She!_ Vasylius suddenly snapped away from McGonagall, head rearing back.

"The She?" McGonagall asked, hiding a smile.

The scaled body coiled into a more settled and relaxed position. _Yes. You rule the Burrow, so you are the She, the Great Mother of the Master's children. Ah, I begin to understand._

McGonagall glanced at River who had led Lupin back several paces. River shook his head and gestured for her to continue.

"What do you understand?" she asked the serpent.

 _Why you speak the tongue, yet do not. Though you rule, you also serve, as do I. We both serve the Masters. The castle gives us understanding that we may avoid…consequences._

McGonagall smiled openly. "The wonders of Hogwarts never cease."

 _Indeed not. What is your will, Great One? I despise any who would seek to rule me, petty, weak, fools! Yet you and you alone have the right to do so. The Contract requires it. Why have you come here? No Great Father or Mother has visited my Chamber since the Master departed._

Growing serious once again, McGonagall cleared her throat. "You say you serve the school. How, precisely?"

The forked tongue flicked in and out testily. _I am its Guardian, a Guardian. I am the living legacy of the Great Master, Salazar Slytherin, great father of the progeny of his House, My life is tied to that of this castle and its charges. They are my brood, mine to protect against all harm from without._

"I see." McGonagall thought for a moment. "Did the other Founders leave Guardians as well?"

A strange hiss which may have been a chuckle echoed through the cavern. _Not as such, but they left much behind. The Lion's Guardian does not live, as I do. It breathes not, yet speaks to guard the brood from within. The Raven thought to leave a similar token, but it was stolen. Instead she left a gift within the castle itself to provide what future generations may require to advance their knowledge. The Badger…_ There was another strange hiss.

"What of Helga Hufflepuff?" McGonagall prompted.

The serpent's coils shivered. _The Master found her most humorous. She believed the basest needs were the most important. She deemed bed and board the greatest gifts to leave her charges. Are these things not recorded in the Annals? Have the Great Ones been so Forgotten? What matter! Why have you come, Great Mistress? Some would consider our Contract broken when my Chamber was sealed and again when the Usurper forced my will. The castle obviously does not consider it so, but what of you?_

McGonagall shifted slightly. Nearby River straightened from translating in Lupin's ear. So far things had gone astonishingly well, but the serpent had gone tense again.

"As you say," the Headmistress began, "your burrow was altered come centuries ago. This was a mistake, as we were unaware of the existence of yourself and this Chamber. I do not know of these Annals you speak of. Perhaps they have been lost. I shall endeavor to recover them. For centuries it has been rumored that Slytherin left a secret Chamber in the castle, but no one knew how to find it. As a result you have been prevented from fulfilling your duties to Hogwarts."

 _I did not break the Contract by choice, Great One. Even I cannot burrow through stone._

"Indeed not. But I can." McGonagall held up her wand. The great head rose with interest, light flickering beneath the half lids. "I ask nothing save what guidance your recollections may provide, and I shall reconnect you to the original burrow through the grounds and seal off the connection to the castle plumbing. Also, I plan to reroute the entrance the Chamber to connect to the Head's office, so we may avoid any repetitions of the episode with Riddle."

The great head regarded her for some time. _You wish me retake the position of Guardian?_

McGonagall nodded gravely. "It would be an honor. Also, I fear there is an infestation of acromantula in the Forbidden Forest that may need attention."

A loud snort issued from Vasylius' nostrils. _Such tempting morsels. You offer a restoration of honor and inducement besides. Let it be done. I shall enjoy working with you, Madam Minerva._

* * *

Some three hours later the tired and dusty trio trudged through the school halls, earning curious glances from the students passing between classes. Nearly two hours of constant blasting curses through bedrock to clear the passage to the original burrow had worn them out. As soon as they entered the Head's Office, McGonagall flicked her wand.

"Denby!" she snapped, though it was a tired snap, "Tea for three please. With crumpets and cream."

She waved the two men to nearby chairs and settled into the great wingback behind the desk with a sigh. Lupin snapped a quick cleaning charm on his clothes before sitting. River copied him. Lupin turned a bemused look at the Headmistress.

"Ma'am, If you don't mind my asking, what was all that about other Guardians of the school? River wasn't able to translate everything I think."

For a long moment McGonagall frowned at the ceiling. Then with another sigh she straightened. "I will consult the other Heads of House and of course try to find these Annals. Until then I cannot be sure."

"Care to hazard a guess?" Lupin prompted.

McGonagall raised a brow to a shabby artifact on a nearby shelf. "I think it fairly obvious that Gryffindor's gift is the Sorting Hat. It's common knowledge the Hat was his. As to Ravenclaw I haven't the faintest idea. For Hufflepuff…" her lips twitched in a most uncharacteristic manner and then she burst out laughing!

River and Lupin exchanged glances as she slapped the desk.

"Oh, it is too scrumptious for words! She was famous for saying there wasn't a problem under the sun that couldn't be solved with a good night's sleep and a solid breakfast. Oh! Don't you see? The beds! She enchanted the beds in the castle," she continued through laughing convulsions. "Did you never notice as students how comfortable they are? How well you slept?"

The two shrugged. "I just assumed the school bought good mattresses."

McGonagall shook her head. "We haven't bought new mattresses in centuries, Lupin. Yet they never wear out, and every child is comfortable no matter what they are used to at home. No, I am sure I'm right. Dear Helga!"

River cleared his throat. "Vasylius said 'bed and board.' What of the board then?"

"Oh, isn't it obvious?" McGonagall asked.

With a loud _Pop!_ a house elf appeared bearing a large silver tea tray. "Tea for the Headmistress!" he squeaked. "And guests," he added, nodding deeply to the two men and endangering the balance of the tray.

McGonagall swept her arm towards the elf in a grand gesture. "She arranged for the service of the House Elves: the best food in England at every meal. Thank you, Denby. That will be all," the Headmistress said, smiling as both men's jaws dropped.

The elf deposited the tray on the desk and bowed low. Before he could disappear Lupin leaned forward eagerly.

"Actually, Denby, there is something else I think you could help us with. And, if I'm right," his eyes flicked up to McGonagall with a mischievous expression, "It may solve the mystery of Ravenclaw's gift as well."

* * *

"There you are," Mrs. Granger said pleasantly as she handed Emmaline a cup of tea and then settled back against a pillow in the facing arm chair. "Now, what can we do for you?"

Emmaline took a sip. Excellent! Though she would have preferred some sugar, the tray didn't have a sugar dish. Dentists. What would Muggles think of next? The two Muggles looked at her avidly, both perfectly relaxed—such a change from most of her visits.

"Well, as a matter of fact there is rather a lot that I can do for you. Specifically, for Hermione."

They blinked at her, and turned as one to regard the two year old playing with her own tea set in the corner. The girl had dark brown curls and was admonishing a stuffed rabbit against the evils of sugar in tea. How droll!

"You see," Emmaline continued, "I am from a special branch of the Ministry of Social Services. We work closely with a number of organizations throughout Britain to keep an eye out for children with special abilities."

"Well," Mrs. Granger said breathily, "we always knew little Hermione was bright for her age, but I thought it was a bit early to get excited about it."

"You're right, of course. You see, what we are looking for has nothing to do with intelligence. It is actually a genetic trait, though it can pop up in families that haven't manifested in generations or, on the rare occasion, out of the blue entirely. You see, certain genetic combinations grant one rare and special abilities: magical abilities."

After a moment of awkward silence—a thing Emmaline had quickly become familiar with on these visits—they both put their cups down, producing synchronized clinks as cups met saucers.

"I'm sorry, Miss, must be my old age setting in," Mr. Granger looked hardly a day over thirty, "but I thought I heard you say 'magical abilities?'"

"I did, yes."

They blinked at her again. "Ah. Well, that's ah, quite interesting—"

"It is rather," said Emmaline pulling out her wand. "There is such a variety of fields of magical study." She summoned a sugar bowl. It even matched Mrs. Granger's china set, full to the brim with sugar cubes. "Conjuration, for instance." She put two lumps in her cup then tapped the creamer, which transformed into a white kitten. "And Transfiguration, always useful, but often very tricky."

The kitten jumped off the table and scrambled over to cuddle with Hermione, who was delighted. Putting down her cup, Emmaline pointed her wand at a spoon, which floated off the tray and began stirring her tea. "I've always had a special affinity with Charms. Then of course there are the heavy academic fields: arithmancy—you know the Muggles would never have made it to the moon without that—and of course Runes, which I've never managed to decipher, but can be quite powerful. Rune Masters are very expensive. Potions and herbology go hand in hand, naturally. Our herbologists work quite closely with your medical laboratories. Of course, the laboratories don't know a thing about where the ingredients really come from, but that's a minor issue, really."

She paused and smiled warmly at the stunned couple. "Now, then. Are you two alright? It is rather a shock, I know."

"You…you mean…oh Lord. John, did you… ah, did you see…?"

"Did I see her turn your antique cream pot into a kitten? Yes, Jean, I surely did. And that spoon is still stirring itself." Mr. Granger frowned at the spoon.

"Oh! I forgot!" Emmaline said with a laugh and canceled the spell. "Your cream pot will be fine, Mrs. Granger. Transfiguration spells are temporary, and mine are rather weak to begin with. In fact—"

A silent summoning charm—and a startled _meow!_ -had the poor kitten flying back into her hands. Hermione watched it fly across the room with wide eyes and regarded Emmaline with interest. Emmaline held the poor thing still over the tea tray for a few seconds and—pop! There was Mrs. Granger's cream pot!

"Only a few drops spilled, I think," Emmaline said.

Mrs. Granger looked between the pot and her husband, eyes wide. Mr. Granger stared at the cream pot, frowning and furrowing his brow, clearly thinking furiously.

"This is a terrible lot to take in." Emmaline said kindly. "Please don't rush yourselves. It might be best to leave things here for today. As you can imagine, there is a lot of information you need to know as parents to a magical child. No one expects you to take it all in on the first day."

Emmaline pulled a box out of her purse. The box was noticeably larger than the leather bag.

"I'll leave this with you. There are pamphlets and books inside. Before I go there are a few things you _must_ know and accept. First, accidental magic is entirely normal and healthy; _suppressing_ magic, however, can result in some very nasty and dangerous consequences. Whatever you do, do _nothing_ to give Hermione the impression that her magic is evil or wrong—in and of itself, that is. You really don't want to know what that can do.

"Secondly, I'm afraid you must keep magic an absolute secret. This is not merely a request; it is an international law. No one, not even grandparents, cousins, or teachers, can know the truth."

"But, but," sputtered Mrs. Granger, "if she is doing this…accidental magic and we aren't to try and control it—how on earth…?"

Emmaline held up a placating hand. "I didn't say you couldn't encourage her to _control_ it, merely not to try and _suppress_ it. Accidental magic is like any other accidents children make. It is never the best way to handle a problem, and is therefore a learning opportunity—a chance for growth and maturity. If any of her magic does draw attention you can call our office and we will help contain the situation." She rose, gathering her bag. "Remember, you are _not_ alone."

* * *

"The Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw," McGonagall said reverently. She looked up pleadingly at the two stone-faced men. "Must is really be destroyed? Such a marvelous discovery! Filius will be crushed. If the Goblins find out there could be war."

"We've already had war, ma'am," Lupin said. "Can't you feel it? This is definitely one of Riddle's Horcruxes. We _cannot_ allow it to survive."

"Our department has jurisdiction, granted by the Chief Warlock himself," River added.

Slowly setting down the beautiful tiara McGonagal sighed. She could indeed feel the corruption Lupin spoke of, though in a way it seemed to swell her enthusiasm to protect the diadem if anything. Her fingers trailed along the filigreed edge. Lupin's eyes narrowed.

"Don't listen to it."

"What?" She snapped her gaze up at him.

"The Horcrux. It can manipulate your emotions, even your thoughts."

River nodded. "We believe that given enough exposure you could even begin to hear it speak. Do not forget that this is not merely a piece of the Riddle's hideous soul, but it is the evil of that soul distilled even further. A Horcrux is the most evil thing known on earth. It _must_ be destroyed."

McGonagall looked again at the diadem. "And it cannot be saved? We cannot…purify it somehow?" For some reason she found herself quite distracted by the mountains of discarded student paraphernalia that surrounded them. She should launch an investigation, sort through the chaff, who knew what other treasures could be buried here? She could start right away, now she was here. The diadem could wait—No! No, the diadem definitely could _not_ wait. She glared at the offending article.

The two men glanced at one another.

"No," River said sadly. "Sadly, it is impossible to purify an object of this kind of evil. The Horcrux is bound to the vessel that holds it. The diadem will take no damage whatsoever unless that damage is total, leaving it beyond repair. Only then will the Horcrux leave the vessel, and depart this world."

McGonagall nodded slowly. "Very well." She glanced critically around the room—it would certainly not do to set fiendfyre lose here. She closed her eyes, and thought. _I need a safe room, with a furnace capable of containing fiendfyre. I need a safe room, with a f—_

A sharp intake of breath caused her to snap her eyes open. The vast cathedral with mountains of stuff had vanished, leaving the three of them in a bare stone room. In the center stood a familiar—and monstrous—black iron stove, the kind anyone who'd visited an old fashioned Scottish house would instantly recognize: an aga. A thick stove pipe disappeared into the ceiling.

Stepping forward McGonagall flicked open one of the oven doors with her wand, revealing the merry fire burning within. With only a heartbeat's hesitation, she flung the beautiful crown into the flames. Another flick of the wand sent a torrent of purple flames into the oven and with a third the door snapped shut and the lock clicked down.

After a few moments a loud _CRACK_ sounded from within followed by a faint, deep boom. The stove pipe shook as a horrendous screech blasted through the room and quickly faded up through the pipe and into the ceiling.

McGonagall turned to the two men, steeling her face. "As you value the peace we have so recently and so arduously attained, you will speak of this to no one. The Lost Diadem will remain a Hogwarts' mystery."

To her surprise they exchanged wry grins. "Never fear, ma'am," Lupin said, "The Department doesn't take kindly to sharing secrets either."

River actually chuckled. "Our oaths are far more binding than you can imagine."

She sniffed. "So long as they are."

* * *

"My dear Augusta! It is so wonderful to see you." A magnificent pillar of fabric, accented with beads and dark lace, descended upon Alice's mother-in-law. Having exchanged kisses of greeting, the two dowagers parted, allowing Alice Longbottom her first look at the great Madam Cassiopeia Elladora Black. The woman was tall, with bold features and a serene countenance.

"The pleasure is mine, dear Cassie," said Augusta. "I was delighted to receive your invitation. It has been far too long."

"Agreed. With the chaos of these past years, is it any wonder? But at last, we can get things back to normal. Oh," she paused and turned, "have you met my niece, Andromeda? Andy! Andy, do come along." A witch turned from a nearby window and Alice barely stopped herself from pulling her wand! The woman was nearly identical to her infamous sister, Bellatrix. "Andy, this is Madam Augusta Longbottom, whom I spoke to you about. Augusta, this is Andromeda Tonks, née Black."

"Welcome, my dear," said Augusta, stepping forward. Taking the witch gently by the shoulders she gave the traditional kiss on each cheek. "Such a pleasure. And I should like you to meet my daughter-in-law, Alice."

All three turned to Alice. Under their gaze she suddenly realized that she was glaring at the Bellatrix-look-alike. She quickly schooled her features. "A pleasure," she said tightly.

A vague something twitched across Andromeda's features. Madam Black looked openly amused. "I'm sure," she said pleasantly. "Shall we sit? I dare say tea will be along shortly. Cecila's presentation won't begin for half an hour at least, and there is something I must speak to you about, Augusta."

"Oh, of course. Tell me, do you know where they source the Darjeeling here?"

Augusta took the arm of Madam Black and they headed for a grand table set into a large bay of windows, leaving the two younger witches to follow. Watching them, Alice was discomforted to realize that although her mother-in-law was a generation younger, she seemed old and frail next to the grand and regal Madam Black.

"We ought to go with them."

Alice started. "What?" She turned to see Andromeda still standing beside her. Upon closer examination, she looked less and less like her sister; the same features perhaps, but entirely different bearing and countenance. She was calm—calculating, surely, but not the least agitated or excited. Bellatrix was notorious for having a fuse not only short, but constantly lit.

The witch nodded her head towards the two dowagers, now being seated by a waiter. "It is impolite to make the hostess wait for us."

"Oh, of course," Alice turned and Andromeda was a mere half-step behind her. It put her on edge, to have the woman so like Bellatrix just beyond her peripheral vision.

"Now, my dear," Madam Black said as they sat, speaking to Andromeda, "before we get to business, do tell me how young Nymphadora is doing. I gather she got to meet one of her idols recently?"

Andromeda's face broke into a demure, beatific smile. Alice nearly dropped her napkin in shock. "Yes. Sirius took her along to a meeting with Scrimgeour and introduced her to Alastor Moody. She's simply mad about Aurors. She gets all the stories from Ted."

As she continued a bevy of waiters descended on their table with trays of silver tea pots, china cups, and towers of confections. Alice was quite torn between trying to watch the two Black's for sudden moves, following the conversation, and deciding which of the confections were least likely to be poisoned.

"What did she think of Mr. Moody? The stories one hears, the man sounds hardly civilized!" Augusta inserted with a fleeting glance at Alice.

"Oh, she was positively star struck," Andromeda helped herself to a small selection of morsels. Alice copied her choices. "In fact, it seems Moody was as well."

Alice fumbled her tea cup. What was this?

"Oh?" asked Augusta. "How so?"

"Apparently he made her a bet, and she won," Andromeda said proudly. "He paid Ted and I visit last Saturday. He's going to tutor her in dueling for a month. He says she is very promising, and with her enthusiasm he recommends we don't wait. He wants us to start her in football _and_ ballet! Says it will give her a good foundation for Auror training."

"We are all so very proud, as you can imagine," said Madam Black. "Nymphadora has such potential, even aside from her Talent." She nodded her head graciously towards Andromeda. "I will freely admit I was not in favor of Andy's choice when she married. But now it is clear the match has been a success. Such potential!"

"Really?" Alice found herself saying. "I heard your family outright disowned her."

Madam Black froze in the act of raising her teacup and pierced Alice with a look that McGonagall would envy. Andromeda flushed, Augusta blanched. Alice felt no trace of magic whatsoever, yet a chill seemed to descend upon the room. Even nearby conversations hushed, though few so much as glanced in their direction.

Augusta cleared her throat. "Alice! Dear!" She turned to Madam Black. "Do allow me to apologize, dear Cass—"

"No need," Madam Black said with dangerous sweetness. "Do not trouble yourself, Augusta." She slowly replaced her teacup and fixed Alice with that glare again. "You are young, my dear, and new to our circles, so I shall not take offense. However, in future you should know that a family's business it its own. It is not for an outsider to comment on, whether the family be commoners, or Muggles, or especially a Noble House. The same, I am sure, is true of many entities: schools, societies, departments…More to the point, people, all people, change. That is, if they wish to survive."

She paused, lifting the cup again and taking a long drink. "Mmm. This is quite good. Augusta, remind me to compliment Valencia on her import later on." She replaced the cup and looked again at Alice. "All people change, dear Alice. A tree that is the same this year as last is dead. It is to be hoped the people change for the better, though some do not." A black brow rose questioningly as it examined her. "I think you will find, my dear, that most people consider it very poor form indeed to bring up issues from the past, particularly when such issue has been favorably resolved, and certainly when those issues were none of your business in the first place. Andromeda, what do you think of this peach blend? Would Nymphadora like it? I think I shall have Valencia send us a few ounces for her to try."

The suddenly shift of topic left Alice unbalanced. She blinked around the table. Augusta was pointedly not looking at her. Andromeda however, met her gaze and _winked_.

Before she could recover Madam Black turned to Augusta. "Dear Augusta, please don't fret. As you may know, I am getting quite an education lately about our younger generations. But now, I must ask a favor of you. I need your help with the C.I.M.. In fact, I wish you to take my place as a Trustee."

"Take your place," Augusta echoed. "My dear, whatever for?"

Madam Black stirred her tea for a calculated moment. "Some family matters have arisen that require my complete attention. I cannot spare the time the C.I.M. deserves. You know how important it is."

"Of course," Augusta replied avidly, as Madam Black sipped her tea.

"Pardon me," Alice interrupted. "What is the C.I.M.?"

Both women looked at her with slightly scandalized expressions. Alice noted a tiny smile twitch across Andromeda's face. Augusta leaned over and said lowly. "The Charity for the Integration of the Muggleborn, obviously. "

"Exactly," Madam Black said. "Of course, I have often been shocked by how many of our people fail to realize the importance of a proper introduction to our world—as if it were no problem at all to fling a Muggle child into a wizarding school with no preparation! The poor dears are barely safe walking down the hall at a school like Hogwarts otherwise."

She leaned close to Augusta and continued a discussion about the board of trustees, who Augusta could rely on and the like.

Alice felt thoroughly dismissed. Mirroring her aunt, Andromeda leaned over and whispered, "Don't worry, and don't feel bad. She takes a bite out of everyone now and again, just to remind us she still has teeth. Just don't mention it again and she'll have forgotten all about it by the time the quiche arrives."

Alice looked at her skeptically. "My mother-in-law seems to think she commands the sun itself to rise and set."

Andromeda smirked. "She only did that once; said it was far too much work." Andromeda took a dainty bite of a pudding.

Alice looked at her plate. None of the food looked at all appetizing anymore. She sniffed her cup. When had she poured mint tea? Not that she was much of a fan of tea anyway…A tingle shot past her fingers! The tea turned dark and thick and the mint smell faded completely away, replaced by something strong and spicy.

"Sorry," Andromeda whispered. "I remember Sirius saying once you and Frank preferred coffee. Ted always says I make it well, though I don't drink it myself. They won't serve it here though. Aunt Cassie would have a fit, so please don't tell. I hope you don't mind."

Alice swirled her cup and took a delicate sip. It was incredibly good! She turned back to the woman, regarding her anew. "You are not what I expected."

"What? Because I look like Bella?" Andromeda raised a brow, looking suddenly very much like her infamous sister and like her aunt at the same time. She sighed heavily. "You are not the first to think so, nor will you be the last." She replaced her tea cup and regarded Alice seriously. "You should know, Sirius told me of your…encounter last week."

For the first time in many years Alice felt her confidence melt away. She flushed and set the coffee down. "Oh."

Andromeda sniffed and looked away for a moment. "I do not blame you, not much anyway. Bella nearly ruined the family reputation. But I do hope you can come to see she does not represent all of us, not hardly."

Alice thought for a long moment and nodded slowly. "I think I could _come_ to see that."

Andromeda smiled warmly. "Good. And please give Aunt Cassie a chance. She's a gem deep down, I promise. Very, very deep down," she finished in a whisper. She glanced down at Alice's cup, which she hadn't touched since the first sip. "I haven't poisoned it, you know."

* * *

Sirius cocked his head at the man facing him. Remus sat back in an armchair by the fire, finger tapping out a complex rhythm on the crystal tumbler of whiskey, staring into space. No, he wasn't just staring. He was brooding. His lips were turned down in a serious frown, and his brows were drawn close together.

"Moony, if you're not going to drink that whiskey just go to bed. There's a dozen empty guest rooms in the god forsaken castle. Take your pick."

Remus gave a start and looked at Sirius with a vacant expression. "What?"

Sirius let out an exasperated sigh. "Merlin, Remus, two hours ago you showed up looking like a piece of laundry come from the wringers. Cassie nearly had a conniption and another when you refused to properly clean-up for dinner. You barely ate and now you're glaring at my fire as if it's done you a personal injury. What the hell?"

In answer Remus turned back to said fire, glowering once again. He raised the glass to his lips, but suddenly stopped short. His eyes went wide. "That's it," he said, soft but intense.

"Great! Wonderful!" Sirius said. "What's what?"

Remus set the glass down and stood. "I've got to go. Have to see Dumbledore." The door snapped shut behind him.

"Well, bugger me," Sirius said testily. He eyed Remus' abandoned glass. "Shame to waste such nice whiskey. Grandad would be insulted."

* * *

Remus stalked through the streets of Oxford, ignoring the grand testaments to centuries of academia that surrounded him. He strode up to an ancient edifice, a curiously circular building in the center of a cobblestone square, and pounded on the door. Though it was late enough that the library was closed flocks of students still passed through the square. They paid him no mind, being intent on seeking late night revelry.

He continued to pound as the ancient door rattled. "Dumbledore! I know you're in there!"

A face slowly materialized out of the wood. "The Library is now closed," a bored, stuffy voice intoned.  
"Please return during normal—"

"Sod it," Remus muttered. "Lemon Drops! Tobblerone! Cadbury Eggs! Oh, phoenix droppings, will you just open—"

The face melted back and the door swung open.

"Phoenix droppings? Seriously?" Remus said, incredulous, stepping through. "He has gone batty."

Quickly crossing the ground floor Remus climbed the winding stairs two at a time, stalked around the first floor gallery, and raced up the next flight as well. He slowed as he walked around the second floor gallery, ignoring the grand well in the center of the library and focusing on the shelves he passed. Which aisle was it on? Ah! There!

He darted behind a dusty bookcase and up a third flight of cramped, but highly polished stairs. The door at the top opened before he could knock.

Remus stepped into the Chief Warlock's impressive office—the office he rigged to portal directly to the official offices in the Ministry. Remus did not blame him in the least. Who would want a dusty ministry office when they had the secret third floor of the famous Radcliff Camera of Oxford University's Bodleian Library? Though cluttered, every article in the office spoke of Dumbledore's genius and the breadth of his expertise.

A somewhat surprised and very tired looking Dumbledore turned from a bookcase against the wall. "Remus? This is a surprise. A pleasant one, I hope?" He gave the book in his hand a slight chuck and it joined the cloud of floating volumes hovering near the bookcase. With a casual wave of this hand Dumbledore sent the flock of them to a nearby end table, which tottered comically as they stacked themselves upon it. Dumbledore paid them no mind as he took a seat behind the grand desk.

"That depends," Remus said breathlessly. "I heard today that objects cannot be purified of evil, at least not Horcrux levels of evil. I assume that's true?"

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "It is. Objects have no moral agency so causing one to be either good or evil is itself extremely difficult. Changing such an alignment, once affixed, is impossible."

Remus nodded distractedly. "What about people?"

The grey brows drew together. "Naturally, I hesitate to claim that any person is past redemption. Human beings _do_ have moral agency and are capable or actions that have inherent moral value, for good or evil—"

"No, no, that's not what I mean," Remus said, beginning to pace. "Not, can a person choose to do good or evil, that's obvious. But can a person be _purified_ from extreme evil?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "I am not sure I am following you."

"Okay, um, let's go back to objects. If, say it werepossible to purify an object, then we wouldn't have to destroy Riddle's Horcruxes, right? We could just purify them. Make them…incompatible or something right? Like, setting an ant nest on fire and all the ants run away."

"Not that I approve of destroying the homes of innocent creatures, but for the sake of argument, I suppose that since destroying the object a Horcrux inhabits makes it incompatible with the needs of the Horcrux, it could be argued that, _if_ such a thing were possible, purifying an object to a point of goodness equal to the evil of the Horcrux itself, that would also render the object incompatible."

"And the Horcrux would be forced to leave the object?"

Dumbledore frowned at the desk for a moment. "I honestly have no idea. A Horcrux has a life of its own, in addition to its moral alignment. Perhaps it could resist the process in some way—prevent the purification. But this is entirely academic as such a thing is, as I said, impossible."

"Yes, yes, so, then going back to a person. If a person can become truly good, the very opposite of evil, would that also make them incompatible with a Horcrux?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Incompatible how? Do you mean, unable to make a Horcrux? I should certainly think so."

"No, no," Remus shook his head. "Incompatible with _being_ a Horcrux."

Dumbledore blinked slowly. "You mean Harry." It was not a question.

"Well, obviously, we can't kill him. I don't even know if it's possible to kill him, to be honest, short of fiendfyre or maybe a basilisk—not that anyone is going to try that," that last bit came out as a dangerous growl. "But we can't leave the Horcrux there either. What will that do to the kid, growing up with a bit of Voldemort in his head?"

"Nothing good, I guarantee."

"Exactly. So, what do we do? You said it's impossible to purify an object because it has no moral agency, but if a person can be purified, if a person can become the absolute opposite of a Horcrux…"

Dumbledore frowned at the desk top. "We are venturing far into the realms of the unknown and unknowable, Mr. Lupin. I have hardly made a study of the art of Horcruxes. But, again for the sake of argument, I confess I find the idea plausible."

Remus nodded feverishly. "What is the ultimate Light magic? The extreme opposite of a Horcrux?"

Twinkling blue eyes rose slowly to lock with Remus' as a light of understanding spread over the old wizard's face.

"The Philosopher's Stone."

* * *

 **A/N: Interesting how quickly massive problems can be resolved when grown ups actually think. It hasn't been a month and we have four Horcruxes destroyed! I'm not sure how many more chapters this story will have. If there are any special scenes you'd like to see let me know in a comment!**

 **In working on the next chapter I have discovered I need to revise a few scenes in this and recent chapters. Stay tuned!**

 **5/3/2017: Heads up, I am quickly approaching the due date for my second child! I will try to get at least one more chapter up before she comes. Be prepared for a long break in updates. Sorry!**


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